The First Time
by maya295
Summary: Year 1987. This story explores the circumstances that could have led to House and Cuddy's one-night stand in med-school. In other words: The Mother of all first times... (same concept as my "First Times" series, only posted separately for length reasons)
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone, _

_For those of you who follow my "First Times" series, this story is undeniably going to sound familiar, somehow._

_Why didn't I post it as a new one-shot IN the First Times series, then? Well, there're several reasons for that. _

_First of all, this story – which was meant right from the start to be THE Mother of all First Times (if you know what I mean…) should therefore, and logically, be the last one (at least in my mind) Which means, I'd have to mark First Times as "Complete" if I posted this story there. But then, what if I thought of writing other First Times after that? (something that is highly probable because, duh, the show left us with many, many possibilities to explore…) So I decided to post that one separately._

_Second of all, anyway, I realized that it would be best to post it as a short story rather than a one-shot, which is the format for First Times. Not that I never post ass-long 10,000+-word one-shots, lol, but I thought this would work best if I cut this one into separate chapters…_

_So there you go._

_THE FIRST TIME._

_Do I need to explain what it means? Well, obviously, this story takes place during med-school. The purpose here is to tackle the circumstances that led to that mysterious "one-night stand" that we only heard of in veiled terms during the show, as much as the one-night stand itself (after all this IS a First Time, so it IS about House and Cuddy having sex, right? ;P)_

_For lack of details provided by the writers, I have tried, as much as possible, to respect canon as we know it. For that, I based that story on several references of the event itself, or at least that period, made in episodes throughout the show (S02E03, Humpty Dumpty – S02E12, Distractions – S03E16 Top Secret – S05E11 Joy To The World – S05E23 Under My Skin, S07E08 Small Sacrifices, and (of course!) S06E07 Known Unknowns)_

_I also tried to respect a certain logic in the timing, given House and Cuddy's ages, knowing that House is supposed to be born in 1959, and Cuddy in 1968,, which means House is 9 years older than her, and about to repeat his fourth year of med school, and, since Cuddy became a doctor at the age of 26, I chose to make her a second year undergraduate._

_I also chose the year 1987 for several reasons, one being specifically mentioned in Small Sacrifices, and another one inspired by something in the episode Wilson… But you'll see what I mean along the way! _

_Anyway, on to the story! I hope you'll enjoy reading it._

_Oh, one last thing… A while ago, a lovely friend of mine asked me if I was going to write a new story, and wanted to know what it was going to be about. I told her that it would most likely be another First Times, and most specifically THE First Time because that was the only substantial idea I had in mind… So __**Amanda**__, this one's for you! :)_

* * *

**** THE FIRST TIME **  
****- Chapter 1 -**

She arrives on Campus the first week of August.

The fall semester at UMich doesn't start until early September, but Lisa Cuddy has insisted on being there as early as possible. Her need for independence, and her self-confidence have considerably grown since last year, and even though she was content to postpone her leaving home to the last minute the first year, this time around, for her second year as an undergraduate, she's impatient to return to the university's familiar environment. It's evidently upset her mother, who keeps telling her that she's going to miss spending the summer with her family, which consequently reinforces Cuddy's urgent desire to leave New Jersey as fast as she can.

She's going to miss her father, there's no doubt about that, but her mother? not so much. Arlene is the caricature of the Jewish mother, and considering she's not even really Jewish, but only converted to Judaism for the love of her husband – a very mildly observant Jew himself – Lisa Cuddy tends to find her mother's religious antics a little bit suffocating.

She's just turned nineteen and, really, she aspires to greater personal achievements than simply being the perfect little housewife Arlene would want her to be.

Her room is located on Central Campus, immediately adjacent to the medical campus, in the Betsy Barbour Residence. The place is great. Well, maybe it'd need to be renovated, but it feels like a palace to her. _Her_ place, anyway. She arrives there late in the afternoon, after having made the trip alone, in her car, an old – but decent – late 70s Ford convertible.

Last year, on her first day there, she was accompanied by her mother who, of course, had wanted to supervise every detail of her settling down. Arlene had moved heaven and earth to have her mahogany desk shipped to the university – so that she'd have a piece of furniture with her that will remind her of home – and Cuddy, opposed to the idea at first, had finally yielded because, sometimes, surrender _was_ the best strategy to get her mother to cut her some slack.

Cuddy had to take it on the chin the whole time, refraining from rolling her eyes in annoyance every now and then, as she'd watched Arlene ordering the movers around, indicating where to put down the desk, and most of her daughter's belongings, but that was only because she knew she would redecorate the 15 square meters room _her way_ – even if that meant turning it upside down once again – the moment her mother would have left and the place would have finally been all hers.

And indeed, when she was alone, she had started rearranging the room to her liking. The bustling noise had drawn the attention to the girl next door, Rebecca, a first-year medical student at the time who, as Cuddy hadn't been long to discover, happened to be quite a nice and cool girl too.

Even though Rebecca is four years older than Lisa, their friendship has been almost instantaneous. Cuddy has always felt greater connection with people older than her. She finds the boys and girls her age – mostly boys – immature, and annoying; whereas she tends to feel more at ease with people in their late twenties, sometimes even older ones. Like her father's best friend, Daniel, whom she likes to talk to. He seems to like to talk to her, too, but that's another story. She's seen the way he looks at her, and it strangely doesn't upset her. She'd be lying if she said she didn't used to laugh a little louder, or sashay just a tad bit more than necessary in his presence just because...

Becca and Lisa have lots of fun together: During Lisa's first year as an undergraduate, they've become close friends, spending long hours talking in one or the other's room, or partying whenever an occasion presented itself. They also happen to share the same life philosophy: They both like to have fun. Occasionally, they do like to flirt with hot guys, too, but they're both ambitious and are first and foremost here to study and become doctors. And not just any doctors; the _best ones_.

Consequently, and thanks to Becca who's introduced her to her friends, Lisa Cuddy has been quick to know her way around campus, and… to one or two guys' rooms.

Heh. She isn't shy and if she doesn't have fun during her university years, then she probably never will. Right?

She's not an easy lay, though. Even less a slut. She likes to have things her way, is all. She always has, anyway. The fact that her father basically indulged every one of her child's whims didn't really help her get used to being told 'no' but there's more to it than just that. Even if she's still at a young adult age, Cuddy likes to have power. She's recognized that need in her a long time ago. She needs to be in control. She's convinced of it: she'll be a boss someday. And she'll excel at it.

So yes, during her first year on campus, she's slept with a few guys, and has flirted with several others. It doesn't mean anything. She's not old enough to think that she's going to meet _the one_ amongst the guys she dances with at parties, anyway. She's just having fun. And she sets the terms of the deal. If it goes further, it's only because she wants to. And if it stops right there, it's also because she decides that it won't be anything more than what it is: a fling, a carefree moment spent fondling and kissing in a car, a one-night stand.

She may be young, but she impresses men. She's aware of that. And quite pleased with the power it gives her, too, to set the rules and be the one to have the last word. She likes to have the last word, indeed. Something that she feels will only grow stronger now that she's taken her independence and has started her adult life far away from her mother's influence, who very much likes to have the last word, too.

…

The first semester starts September, 7. Cuddy has chosen her schedule so that she won't have to attend classes too early in the morning. She's used to hanging out at parties now, and she'd rather not sacrifice the luxury of being able to sleep in whenever she can. She made no concessions in selecting her majors, though, going for molecular biology and biochemistry because taking a lot of sciences has to help when you're an undergraduate in med-school, right?

When she applied for biochemistry, every other student there registered to Professor Siegal's lectures, but she's confidently chosen to attend Pr. Lamb's class, instead, known on campus to be the most demanding of the two.

On Wednesday, her third day of school, she heads to the bookstore after class, her syllabus in hand, with the firm intention to get everything she needs quickly, as there's a concert on South Campus later, and Dave – Becca's boyfriend – plays in one of the bands that's going to perform there.

…

The doorbell chimes when she pushes the door to enter the bookstore, but Cuddy quickly realizes that the tinkling sound isn't going to make her more noticeable as the place is predictably crammed with students, and nobody seems to pay attention to her. Instantly feeling annoyed to have to wait, she however takes her place in line and starts queuing towards the counter. There're two students in front of her, and only one girl to take care of their requests. She's efficient though, and soon enough, she's dealt with one of them. It doesn't stop Cuddy from tapping her fingers impatiently on the side of her leg, which the girl behind the counter must notice because she suddenly turns to the left and shouts in the direction of a hidden corner behind her.

"Greg! I could use some extra help in here."

Cuddy distinctly hears someone grumble and then, as if he'd popped out of nowhere, a guy is standing behind the counter in front of her, sighing loudly.

He's tall, and undeniably athletic. Cuddy's eyes are leveled with his pectoral muscles, visibly firm under his tee-shirt. She tilts her head up and for what must last no longer than a second, she meets his eyes. Blue.

Very, very much _blue_. Of the piercing kind.

She's not really aware of her mouth falling agape, and it's probably best because she'd most certainly hate herself for it. Thankfully anyway, it doesn't last long because the pair of ice-blue eyes leaves her gaze and quickly ogles her (of that she's sure) and then, a faint ironic smile draws on the corner of his lips (so imperceptible she thinks she must have imagined it) and his face returns to its imperturbable mask, as he arches his eyebrows expectantly.

"Need anything?" he says, sounding slightly amused.

Cuddy wisely opts to stay silent. For an inexplicable reason, as much as it surely is an irrational one, she feels she'd probably snap at him if she opens her mouth. So she just hands her syllabus to him and shoots him a pointed look.

He smiles again, or more precisely his eyes do, as there's that little sparkle of… mischief that lights up his gaze when he takes the sheet from her hand. He skims it quickly and then looks at her once more, narrowing his eyes at her as if he were… intrigued?

"Hmm," he says, "overly ambitious student."

Cuddy instantly feels judged and, as a result, somehow piqued in her pride, too.

"With a chip on her shoulder," he adds, before she can think of an appropriate answer. "Though, you definitely do know how to party…"

He plants his eyes in hers then, and she becomes slightly breathless.

"You're making that up," she answers, squirming with unease, but unable to repress a coy smile at the same time.

"Nope! Your class schedule is overloaded, but none of your classes are before 11:00."

He quickly glances at the sheet again.

"And no one takes Professor Lamb's course unless they have something to prove."

Her eyes widen in surprise, and she puffs, not really knowing what else to say in that instant. Truth is, she's speechless. She, Lisa Cuddy, is _speechless_. She feels an unfamiliar twinge in her belly, and it takes her off guard. After a second, she decides to label it as the need to find a comeback. No, not the need; the _urge_ to find a comeback and shut his mouth. She usually has the last word. She's not used to not knowing what to say. The unfamiliar sensation is there, warm and tingling, in her belly: It's like little jolts of electricity that tickle her nerves. Damn it, she needs to say something! Instead, she just opens her mouth to speak but no sound comes out of it.

"Don't you know that Professor Siegal covers the same ground but is the easier grader?" blue-eyed guy says.

She tries to pull herself together and shoots him her best unmoved look.

"Of course, I know!" she says. "You just didn't consider the other option. Maybe I chose Professor Lamb's course because I'm not afraid of taking up the challenge."

She juts her chin up, proudly, waiting for him to be impressed. Instead, he just looks at her, completely unfazed, and shrugs. She sucks in a sharp breath to repress the need to groan in frustration. For God's sake, that guy is impossibly annoying, she thinks.

"So? Are you going to get my books?" she finally asks, hoping to sound as nonchalant as he is.

"Sure!"

He disappears for several minutes, her syllabus in hand, and comes back, carrying a stack of books. She pays without a word, and stoically gathers them in her arms, half-disappearing behind the pile.

"Want some help?" he offers, though with obvious reluctance.

"No, thanks," she snaps.

He watches her struggle to find her balance, her books in her arms and her purse on her shoulder, and when she feels steady enough on her feet, she turns on her heel and starts heading towards the exit without saying a word.

She takes several steps, all the way feeling the back of her neck burn as she pictures him staring intensely at her, surely enjoying watching her walk unsteadily away from him, and it feels as if he's drilling a hole in her skin with the intensity of his gaze on her. She doesn't dare to look above her shoulder to check if he does, though. She's also practically sure he must be grinning, which unnerves her in an oddly not so unnerving way…

"Bye, party girl," he calls after her just as she reaches the door.

She doesn't answer anything. Nor does she turn around to look at him. Instead, as an empathic student opens the door for her, she rolls her eyes and exits the bookstore.

* * *

_**A/N**_

_This story is going to be 6 chapters long (or maybe 7, depending on whether or not I decide to post the epilogue separately)_

_I will update every three or four days. Five at the very max. I promise._

_Have a nice day ~ maya._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi everyone, _

_Thank you, all of you, who have stopped by and read this story over the past two days. _

_I'm also very grateful for those of you who left me a comment. Thank you for your kind words: Guest, JLCH, Guest, Guest, freeasabird14, housebound, Abby, MWoods78, HuddyGirl, Boo's House, Ladytrad, Amandak82, MystryGAB_

_I hope you'll keep enjoying this story. _

"Because I thought you were an interesting lunatic, even then." – Cuddy (Under My Skin)

* * *

**** THE FIRST TIME **  
****- Chapter 2 -**

Back to her room, much to her bafflement, Cuddy finds herself still thinking about what's just happened, or more specifically, about blue-eyed guy and the way he's seen right through her just from shooting a quick glance at her syllabus, even though he's actually barely paid attention to her. It annoys her. What kind of guy does that: Manage to be simultaneously indifferent and extremely perceptive at the same time?

She takes a shower, and as she lets the sensation of the cool water on her skin refresh her, his image is still here, in the back of her mind. So is that weird, funny, but not completely unpleasant feeling in her lower abdomen she's experienced earlier in the bookstore. It's not arousal (God no, she knows how _that_ feels!) but it's still similar to some sort of excitement, only different.

It feels like being annoyed and being happy about it at the same time. Which makes no sense at all. Being annoyed is not a pleasant feeling, and she definitely shouldn't relish it. And yet, she does, in a way. She can't really explain why but it's as if the best part about her interaction with blue-eyed guy at the bookstore has been the contradiction that came with wanting him to be nice to her, _while_ needing to argue with him at the same time. It's felt highly frustrating, but in a delicious way.

She's definitely not used to feeling that many antagonistic feelings all together so instead of trying to comprehend why a guy she's never met before, and only saw for barely two minutes can occupy her thoughts that much, she decides to pleasure herself because then, at least, she knows she won't be thinking about him while doing _that_… Will she?

…

After her shower, Cuddy gets dressed quickly and she drives to South Campus to join Rebecca, Dave and a few more friends there before the concert. Dave is a fourth-year med student. He and Becca have started dating during the spring semester last year. He's a nice guy, curly blond hair and a scruffy beard, with a false laid-back attitude, as he's a brilliant student, and hopes to get accepted in The Johns Hopkins Neurology Residency Program next year. He and three of his fourth-year fellows have started a rock band five years ago, in which Dave plays bass guitar.

Tonight, his band and a few others are due to perform to celebrate the beginning of the fall semester, as it usually is the tradition on campus; every new year another pretext to throw parties and special art or musical events everywhere.

Cuddy enjoys the atmosphere around that time of year a lot. The university is bustling with people, familiar and new faces, and, as the stress of the new semester isn't too high yet, the students are still relaxed and willing to have fun without too much care before they'll all turn their focus back to their books and lab assignments in a few weeks.

The concert is open-air, near Elbel field, and when she arrives, she finds her friends seated on the lawn, amongst dozens of other students that have gathered there to enjoy the event. There's another band scheduled before it's supposed to be Dave's turn to play, so they all sit together and have a few drinks, chatting and catching up with each other, as they wait for Dave and his band to be next on stage.

The guys are talking music and tones, and specific arrangements for one of the songs they're going to play so, seeing that their minds are already elsewhere, Lisa and Rebecca are left alone to talk.

"How did it go today in class?" Rebecca asks her, sipping a beer right out of the bottle.

"Good," Lisa says. "Lamb called us 'the bravest ones' because we chose his class, but warned that it won't buy us any special treatment just because we're apparently not afraid to work harder. After the first hour, I think some students were already considering switching to Siegal's."

She giggles.

"Ha. If they can!" Rebecca exclaims. "Siegal is notoriously known as the easiest grader. I'm sure his class is full already."

Probably because they're evoking Professor Lamb, the memory of blue-eyed guy suddenly pops up, unwanted, in Cuddy's mind.

It makes her heartbeat instantly speed up in her chest, something that Cuddy is unprepared for, and certainly does not want to try rationalizing. She puffs loudly, and the unexpected sound catches Becca's attention.

"What?" she asks.

"Nothing."

"You look annoyed."

Cuddy sighs again and briefly looks away.

"I went to the bookstore today," she finally says after a while.

"Oh, and so what? They didn't have what you wanted?"

"No, they did. It's just that, there was that…. asshole there."

"Who? A student?"

"No, the guy behind the counter," Cuddy says, trying to sound offhand.

Rebecca's face instantly lights up with a broad smile.

"Tall, blue eyes, late twenties?"

"Yeah… I guess." She shrugs, hoping to appear only half-interested.

"Ooh, so you met _him_?"

Cuddy's brow furrows, and she shoots an intrigued look at her friend.

"Met _who_?"

"Gregory House."

The sound of those four syllables sends a light shiver down her spine. _Gregory House_… So that's his name? And… how the hell does Rebecca know it, anyway?

"I don't know his name. I didn't look at the tag on his shirt," Cuddy says, sticking out her tongue playfully.

Rebecca lets out a derisive laugh.

"Oh Lisa, that guy doesn't need a name tag! He's a legend here."

This time it's Cuddy's turn to laugh heartily at her friend's comment.

"He, a legend? Haha, how? Because he's been the bookstore's best employee of the month six months in a row?" she says sarcastically.

Rebecca rolls her eyes, and shakes her head to show her disapproval.

"Oh my God, so you really haven't heard about him?"

Cuddy pouts, feeling a bit upset all of a sudden.

"Heard about what?"

"He's a fourth-year med student. Actually, he—"

Cuddy's mouth falls agape and she stares at her friend, stunned.

"_He _is a med-student?" she repeats, still visibly bemused.

"Wait, I'm not finished!"

"Ok, go on."

"As I was saying, _actually_, he should be an intern right now because he was already in fourth year last year… at Johns Hopkins."

"Whoa, WHAT? What the hell is he doing here, then?"

"It gets better," Rebecca says with a conspiratorial smile.

"Really?"

"Well, the guy's obviously a genius. Top of his class every year, aced his MCAT… He was the favorite to obtain the Doyle internship at the Mayo Clinic."

"Wow. Still doesn't answer my question: What the hell is he doing here?"

"You're never gonna believe this!"

"What?"

"He got expelled… For cheating."

"Get out of here! If he really is the genius you say he is, why would he have to cheat, uh?"

"I don't know, rumor has it some guy in his class ratted on him to the Dean. Claimed he cheated off him."

"That sounds ridiculous!"

"Well, apparently, he's appealed. UMich has only accepted him on provisional basis… Which is why, in the meantime, he hangs out at the bookstore, occasionally helping."

"Sounds like he'd rather avoid doing it," Cuddy mumbles to herself, remembering how he'd groaned in obvious annoyance as the girl behind the counter had called him for help.

"How do you know all of that, anyway?" she adds, looking at her friend with genuine curiosity.

Rebecca flashes a wink at her.

"What do you think? Dave told me. He shares a few classes with him apparently."

"But… Didn't you just say he was already a fourth-year _last year_?" Cuddy asks, puzzled.

"Technically, since he's been expelled, his fourth year hasn't been validated yet."

"Oh."

Lisa's mind briefly drifts away at the thought. For a surprise, she has to admit it is quite a huge one! Her obnoxious stranger is a med-student. A _legendary_, brillant med-student, no less. From Johns Hopkins, on top of that. And as if that wasn't enough already, he's just been expelled because he cheated during an exam.

_Wow._

That's a lot to digest, for sure! She feels a little dizzy realizing that what, until then, was only the memory of an annoying interaction suddenly becomes something else. What exactly, she doesn't know, but what she does know, however, is that blue-eyed guy isn't just a jerk. He's definitely an intriguing one…

Well, not blue-eyed guy, by the way… _Gregory House_.

She's jolted out of her reverie when Dave joins them, leaving his musician friends standing a few feet away, with their instruments in hands.

"We're up next," he announces. "It's time for us to get prepped."

"I thought that getting prepped was what you've been doing this whole time," Rebecca said, with an amused pout.

Dave rolls his eyes, but makes no comment, handing out his hand to her.

"What?" she asks.

"Come on, you're sitting way too far to be a decent groupie!" he says. "Come closer to the stage."

"Lisa and I are fine here," she fakes to protest.

She however docilely takes his hand and lets him help her stand up. Cuddy quickly picks up her purse and sweater, stands up as well, and they all start heading to the front. As they make their way amidst the students gathered in groups on the lawn, she's becoming aware of the music that the band on stage is currently playing.

It's good, some sort of rock, but with blues accents. She's not really familiar with what kind of music it is exactly, but she likes it. But then, she stops dead in her tracks, as if suddenly paralyzed by the vision in front of her eyes: Right there, behind the keyboards, is none other than Gregory House playing.

"What's wrong?" Rebecca asks, letting go of Dave's hand to stop next to her.

Lisa is unable to reply anything so Rebecca glances in the direction of whatever it is her friend is staring at, smiling when she turns to look at her again.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell. Your 'asshole' is also a musician," she says, visibly amused by Cuddy's reaction.

"Who's an asshole?" Dave asks.

"House," Rebecca says, still grinning. "Lisa met him at the bookstore today."

"I didn't _meet_ him," she protests, feeling flush invading her cheeks. "He just handed me some books."

"She hadn't even heard about him. Can you believe this?" Rebecca tells Dave, laughing at the thought.

"Sorry, I'm not a gossiping queen like you are!" Cuddy says, feeling the need to defend herself.

"Well, you're right about him being an asshole, though," Dave says, chuckling. "He's already had a run-in with Jenkins yesterday in Immunology. Interrupted him right in the middle of his class, saying his data weren't up-to-date."

Cuddy's eyes widen in surprise, and oddly enough, she finds herself unable to suppress the feeling of admiration that grows inside her at the idea.

"What did he do?" she asks, a little breathless.

"Topic was AIDS. House cited some experimental results to back up his claim, saying they'd just opened new research fields on the matter that invalidated Jenkins' speech—"

"And?" Cuddy says, feeling impressed, and slightly excited just imagining the scene in her mind.

"Well, Jenkins apparently hadn't heard about it… I'll let you imagine the absolute awkwardness of the ten seconds that followed." Dave says, deadpan.

"Oh God!" Cuddy exclaims, feeling an irresistible thrill pervade her.

"Yep! That guy's definitely an asshole, but he's a brilliant one…"

In that instant, Cuddy can't help but shoot a glance in his direction: He's still on stage, visibly playing their band's last song, and giving it his everything, standing behind the keyboard and placating chords on the keys with evident bliss.

For the umpteenth time that day, while she's neither able to explain why, nor stop the feeling from pervading her, those little jolts of electricity that coursed inside of her the first time she saw him are back in the pit of her stomach, sending shivers through her body.

Until today, it's been a rather unfamiliar sensation, at least one she's not used to feeling in that kind of circumstances. Now, just looking at him from a distance, and thinking about whom he is, what he does, where he comes from, and why, she suspects she's going to get used to it if she keeps hearing from him, or bumping into him on campus…

But there's no reason for her to actually run into him – not regularly, that is. Why would she? She's a second-year undergraduate. He's just finished fourth-year of med-school. There're very little chances they might come across one another on campus.

And yet, she's never felt as much _compelled_ to know someone as she wants to know him just now. It feels utterly irrational. He's the exact opposite of what should attract her: A jerk, arrogant, smug, trouble-maker, a _cheater_…

Dave urges them to keep going, otherwise they're going to be late, he says. They start walking towards the space devoted to the musicians, coming closer with every step they take. When they arrive almost just in front of it, the band in which House plays finishes performing. The audience hoots and hollers, some people whistling cheerfully to congratulate them, while they gather their instruments and start leaving the area.

House is the last one to leave. He's wearing a washed-out, gray Iron Maiden tee-shirt, and a pair of jeans that mold his toned thighs. He walks in long, confident strides to exit the place. Dave plants a quick kiss on Rebecca's lips before joining his friends to get ready to perform, and as Lisa stands aside, House walks past her, merely a few feet away from her. He doesn't seem to notice her, yet she could swear he's turned his head in her direction for a split second as he passed by. He's wearing sunglasses, even though daylight is beginning to fade, and she can't help but think it makes him look both ridiculous and totally sexy at the same time.

If anything, she thinks, it makes him look like an interesting lunatic, and that simple admission strangely overwhelms her.

As she dares to watch him walk away, his back to her, and join a group of friends farther on her left, realization hits her full force in that very second: She needs to see him again.

And for that to happen, she obviously needs a plan…

(...)

* * *

_**A/N**_

_NB: I had to make choices. One of them being: Did Cuddy know or not know House's situation right from the start? I like to think she did. I like to think she was a strong, determined young woman, even then and that a guy like House would have intrigued her and attracted her, even then… Here are the references that helped me make those choices._

_from Humpty Dumpty (S02E03)_

Cameron: You both went to Michigan. Did you know him while you were there?  
Cuddy: Ah, I was still an undergrad, but yeah, I knew him. He was already a legend.  
Cameron: So you just knew him as a legend?  
Cuddy: My God, you're subtle! Anything else on your mind?

_From Distractions (S02E12)_

Weber: I received my medical degree at Johns Hopkins University, where I studied under Brightman and Gilmar.  
Wilson: Hmm! He must be good. You went to Hopkins and studied under Brightman and Gilmar.  
House: Shhh...  
Weber: This helped me to win the Doyle internship at the Mayo Clinic.  
Wilson: You were supposed to get the Doyle internship… This guy's von Lieberman?! The guy got you thrown out for cheating?  
House: The Dean threw me out. Von Lieberman just ratted on me.  
Wilson: This guy's name is Weber, not von Lieberman.  
House: I call him Weber von Lieberman. Way eviler. Shh.

Have a nice day ~ maya


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi everyone, _

_Thank you, JLCH, freeasabird14, Abby, HuddyGirl, azes, lenasti16, guest, guest, Ladytrad, Amandak82 for taking the time to read and review the last chapter of this story._

_And thank you to all of you who have stepped in to read…_

_On to the next chapter.  
__I hope you'll still enjoy it._

"I saw you in Endocrinology class..." – Gregory House (S06E07 Known Unknowns)

* * *

**** THE FIRST TIME **  
****- Chapter 3 –**

Third week of the semester.

House already feels tremendously bored. But he still needs to attend a few classes, though. At least pretend that he does, if anything to give the impression that he's taking his situation seriously, and is willing to be a 'good' student.

Sadly, he can't keep spending all of his time in the bookstore. The place is nice, though, quiet most of the time, and it gives him free access to an infinite number of books that he reads, in a secluded little spot he's fitted out just for him behind the counter. The problem is, even the bookstore is sometimes annoying. It could be the perfect place – even better than the library – if he didn't have to help Carrie every now and then, when it becomes too crowded and it's obvious she can't handle everyone's request at the same time.

So he had to find an alternative; which is why he divides his time between the bookstore, and a selected numbers of classes that keep his intellect stimulated.

Endocrinology is one of them. He's not particularly fond of the specialty, but he enjoys going there just for the pleasure of messing with Fillmore every time he gets a chance. Actually, come to think of it, he mostly attend classes to mess with his Professors, and he really doesn't care what it makes him look like – probably a jerk – because he's going to receive a call from Johns Hopkins' Dean very soon, who will tell him his appeal has been granted, and he'll go back to the logical course of his life, which means: get the Doyle internship at The Mayo Clinic, as he deserves it. And Weber, that little bastard who ratted on him, can go fuck himself!

He arrives late in class, as usual, and takes a seat in the back. As usual. Everyone is already scribbling down notes, bent forward to their tables. Some of them still straighten up to look at him when he crosses the room to find his spot. Some others shoot him a half-glare because he makes a table squeak, or bumps into the back of a chair on his way.

"Mister House," Fillmore says as he sits down, "May I remind you that class starts at nine. Not _nine fifteen_…"

House shrugs, but doesn't answer. A few more students turn around to look at him. Some smile emphatically, some smirk judgmentally. He doesn't pay attention to them, though. He doesn't care, anyway.

Fillmore has already moved on, carrying on with whatever topic he is discussing today. House gives a quick glance at the board to catch up. There're mostly numbers written down, which look like lab results, more specifically hormone panels, if the different acronyms are any indications.

Fillmore is finishing writing a few more data on the board.

"So," he says, turning around and looking directly at House, "for the latecomer, today's topic is—"

"Hashimoto's thyroiditis," House says, completing Fillmore's sentence. "Yeah. Seems pretty obvious to me from TSH and T4 levels written down there…"

Fillmore's mouth falls agape for a brief instant, but he quickly pulls himself together.

"Yes, of course," he says, addressing the entire class again. "As I was about to say, the lab tests for Hashimoto's thyroiditis are quite self-explanatory. Clinical features, however, are a little trickier. Why?"

"Because Hashimoto's thyroiditis is often asymptomatic in the early stage of the disease."

The voice is feminine. And it's just come from somewhere in the front rows. House's curiosity is instantly piqued. Every student perfectly knows that Fillmore's questions are usually purely rhetorical, and don't call for an actual answer. Amused, he tries to locate where the girl is, and then he sees her, more precisely her back: A petite brunette, with long curly hair, seated in second row.

"Yes, you're right," Fillmore says, taken a bit off guard by the interruption. "Some symptoms are, however, very much observable, which is what we're going to focus on right now."

He closes a section of the board and uses his overhead projector to display a picture of a patient on the wall.

"As you can see," he goes on, "there is a goitre which is firm, slightly irregular, and usually painless-"

"Not in about 10% of the cases," brunette girl interrupts him again.

Fillmore conspicuously clears his throat and shoots a pointed look at the girl.

"Yes, which is why I said _usually_…

The girl remains silent, apparently nodding in agreement.

"Please note that the enlargement of the thyroid is due to lymphocytic infiltration and fibrosis rather than tissue hypertrophy," Fillmore continues. "Definite diagnosis is made by detecting elevated levels of anti-thyroid peroxidase antibodies in the serum."

"What about patients that have none of these antibodies?" the girl asks.

Oh God, House thinks, watching the scene with utter fascination, that girl is going to get crucified if she keeps making comments like that.

It's sassy, he thinks right after.

And he likes that…

Which is why, for an inexplicable reason, he feels the sudden urge to intervene.

"I think the real question here is, what about Subacute thyroiditis?" he says, catching Fillmore's attention just as – he's sure of that – he was about to shut brunette girl up with an acerbic remark.

"Excuse me?" the professor says, looking up in House's direction.

"Subacute Thyroiditis," House repeats smugly. "Some studies show Hashimoto's thyroiditis can, in fact, occur after a viral infection, most likely of the respiratory tract—"

"Mr. House, I know your interest in infectious diseases, but this is not the subject," Fillmore says dismissively, visibly embarrassed by the question. "Hashimoto's thyroiditis is a well-documented autoimmune disease, which underlying cause is hormonal—"

"Sure," House replies sarcastically. "You teach an Endocrinology class so, of course, it means the cause _has to be_ hormonal."

Fillmore's cheeks become slightly flushed with anger.

"I'm not overlooking other possible diagnosis, Mr. House," the professor says louder. "What I'm saying is the debate amongst physicians regarding Subacute Thyroiditis hasn't been settled. All signs point to it being hormonal, the viral explanation rather inconclusive so far—"

"Well, actually," brunette girl in second row says, "several documented studies published in _Endocrinology_ report cases of patients who suffered from De Quervain's thyroiditis as a complication of mumps."

Geez, that girl is unstoppable, House thinks. And, as it turns out, not a complete moron either. Calling Subacute Thyroiditis De Quervain's shows she knows her subject, for sure.

He stares intensely in her direction and, as if on cue, she turns around and flashes a mischievous smile at him.

Consequently, and for the first time since he's noticed her presence in the class, he sees her face. A pretty face, undeniably: pulpy, rosy lips, light-blue eyes – or so it seems – distinguished little nose, high cheekbones...

Pretty _and_ smart?

Interesting, to say the least…

He doesn't really pay attention to Fillmore's vexed reaction, but assumes he's probably trying to save face as he announces shortly after that they will focus back on the matter at hand, moving on to the hereditary risk factors, and illustrating his point with mentions of HLA-DR5 gene, and CTLA-4 gene polymorphisms in various scientific data.

The hour flies by without any more interruptions from brunette girl. She seems to be focusing on writing down notes for the remaining duration of the class. House can't help but look at her. She's not seated at an angle that allows him to see her face properly, but he can make out her profile, nonetheless, by the way she tilts her head to the side to write. Left-handed, he notices, and smiles.

When Fillmore dismisses class, instead of being one of the first to leave, like he usually is, House stays seated in his chair, observing brunette girl while she's gathering her stuff. John, the guy next to him, seems to be doing the exact same thing, as House isn't long to find out.

"Sexy, uh?" John says, talking to House even though he doesn't look at him.

"She's a baby," House says, shooting him a side glance.

"Hmm, I wouldn't say that," John replies, conspicuously checking brunette girl out as she stands up and reveals a short skirt, barely covering her toned legs, and perfectly enhancing her curvy ass.

The girl starts to head out. Leaping to his feet, House quickly follows suit, but not before he's stopped long enough to send a warning glare to John.

"Leave it," he says.

He vaguely hears John protest behind him, but doesn't pay attention to what he's saying, as he strides towards the back door to leave, hoping to catch up with the girl who just exited through the front door.

And, indeed, he does. With a perfect timing, he almost bumps into her in the hallway as she's actually walking in his direction, her bag on her shoulder and a lollipop in her mouth.

Just as she walks past him, her chin high, and her gaze everywhere but on him, he takes a step aside to get in her way and force her to stop. She comes to an abrupt halt and locks eyes with him.

"I don't think I've seen you before in that class," he says, looking down at her with a smart-ass grin.

She pops the lollipop (cherry lollipop, he instantly notices) out of her mouth with too much of an unnecessary loud, sucking noise for it not to be deliberate, and stares at him with arched eyebrows.

"Maybe you just don't remember," she says.

She pouts for a second, her lips shaping into an adorable "O" and then flashes an amused smile at him.

"Doesn't seem to me like you're very good with faces," she adds, and her voice takes on a slightly challenging tone.

He frowns, intrigued, and then shamelessly plants his gaze on her cleavage for a while before returning his attention to her face.

"Oh trust me, I'd have remembered," he sasses. "I have an excellent memory."

She rolls her eyes in obvious disapproval but House doesn't fail to notice how flush invades her cheeks at the same time.

"I'm Gregory House, by the way" he says.

"Well, that'd have been pretty hard for me not to know that already," she says with a throaty laugh. "What with you interrupting Professor Fillmore every two seconds."

For a split second, House's eyes widen in stunned surprise at her sassy comment.

"Hum, hello pot, this is kettle," he says, shooting her a genuinely amused smile.

"I was barely making observations," she says, wiggling her shoulders a little.

"Oh, you were, uh? Well, in case you haven't noticed, Professor Fillmore isn't exactly keen on interacting with students. His questions are more, like, of the rhetorical kind, if you see what I mean."

"Then why did you ask him about Subacute Thyroiditis?" she asks challengingly, and in that instant, it's impossible to miss the little sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

"Because that was a perfectly valid observation," he says, with a 'duh' face.

"And what? Mine weren't?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying, don't try too hard to outsmart him. He's not going to like it."

"As opposed to him enjoying _your_ observations, of course?"

House rolls his eyes dramatically, but can't repress the smile that draws on the corner of his lips in that instant.

"Anyway!" he exclaims brushing the topic aside with a wave of his hand. "Are you going to be a regular in Endocrinology, or was today just a one-time thing?"

"Huh? Why would it be?"

"Don't know. Like I said, I'm pretty sure you weren't here the other weeks."

"And, _like I said_, you're terrible with faces, Gregory House, because you've seen me before..."

House frowns dubiously, but still nods.

"If you say so. Now, does that mean I'll have to endure your meddling presence on a regular basis?"

She shakes her head and laughs.

"If I have to endure yours, I don't see why you wouldn't mine," she shoots back.

"Oh, this is going to be fun!" he exclaims with a beam.

She shoots a quick glance at her watch just then.

"I'm late for my next class," she says. "I need to go."

"No you don't."

"Huh, why?"

"Because you still haven't told me your name."

"Lisa Cuddy," brunette girl says, looking him straight in the eyes, and pushing the lollipop back between her lips.

Before he can say anything, she turns on her heel and starts sashaying away – her hip sways the most riveting pendulum move he's ever seen in a long time. He tilts his head to the side and stares at her for a while, then feels the sudden need to see her face one last time before she will disappear behind the next corner.

"Hey, Cuddy!" he calls after her.

She looks above her shoulder, only slowing down her pace, but not stopping.

"Next class is Grave's disease," he tells her with a smile. "You'd better start getting your annoying questions ready..."

She swings round and walks backwards for one or two steps, rolling her eyes at him, and throwing her head back to laugh, and then she turns her back to him once more and walks away.

She's already disappeared behind the corner at the end of the hallway now, but House still stands, rooted to his spot, with a goofy smile on his lips.

The image of brunette girl – no, not brunette girl... _Lisa Cuddy – _sucking on that cherry lollipop and sashaying away is still imprinted in his mind. Out of instinct, House licks his bottom lip, and then he turns on his heel as well and begins striding in the opposite direction, feeling quite happy with himself.

(...)

* * *

_**A/N**_

_I'm on vacation. But I have internet access, though, so don't worry: I'll post the next chapter soon. Sometime this week._

_In the meantime, I'd really like to hear from you… :)_

_NB: I've deliberately chosen to have Cuddy "tease" House with a cherry lollipop here. She's a nineteen year-old girl. He's a 28 year-old guy. In my mind, it's more likely, she'd be the one indulging that 'girlish' sugary addiction. Plus, I'd like to think that this would be the reason why, many years later, House would be the one sucking lollipops teasingly in PPTH, in a sort of "in memoriam" habit, somehow… especially since the way he looks at her in the show every time he sucks on a lollipop is suggestive enough to imagine there's more to it than just what appearances show. You'll see more of that next, and along the story…_

_Have a nice day ~ maya_


	4. Chapter 4

**** THE FIRST TIME ****

**- Chapter 4 –**

On Thursday, second Endocrinology class of the week, House is unusually so very much on time – if not a little bit in advance – as he's already seated in class when she enters the room. She wears slim-fitted jeans (God, she's really got a great ass) and a white shirt, buttoned up just enough to cover her bra, but make you feel like you could definitely guess what color it might be underneath. He stares intensely at her as she stands on the threshold and briefly scans the place (at least that's exactly what it looks like to him) so much so that they end up locking eyes. He smiles then, and offhandedly shoots a glance at the empty seat right next to him.

She sees him do it, obviously, but she still pretends to hesitate for a second, looking challengingly at him with her chin up, as if she were considering her options. He doesn't budge and sustains her gaze, staring at her with an equally teasing gaze. When she finally walks in his direction and takes the seat next to him, he plays it cool, of course, acting like this isn't exactly what he's expected her to do all along.

"Oh yeah, you can seat here if you want," he says, looking straight ahead with perfectly faked indifference.

She turns to the side and he can feel her staring at him.

"Hi," she says, with a hint of amusement in her voice. "You're early."

"On time."

"Well, not late, anyway-"

He turns to the side, too, and their eyes meet again; except this time, the closeness makes it all the more intense. Her eyes are of that strange, but beautiful, undefined, light color... and they stare at his in a way that makes him want to squirm in his chair.

"Hi, Cuddy," he says.

"My name's Lisa."

"I know."

She arches her eyebrows and shoots him a quizzical look. He shrugs, and Fillmore enters the class just then.

"Good morning, everyone," he announces, putting his satchel down on the desk. "Continuing our chapter on immune system disorders, today we're going to study the effects of hyperthyroidism, as opposed to hypothyroidism that we illustrated last time with Hashimoto's thyroiditis."

"See? Grave's disease," House says, leaning to the side a bit to whisper the words to her. "Told ya."

"You seem very familiar with the course of study," she whispers back, glancing at him.

House is thrown by her remark. Not that his situation isn't known around campus, but it's just felt like she was offering him an opening to say more and he wasn't really prepared for it.

"Something you wanted to say, Mr. House?" Fillmore says.

House sits bolt upright, taken aback by the professor's question.

"Nope! Nothing to say," he replies.

Fillmore squints at him dubiously, and turns his attention to Cuddy next, half-glowering at her, as if he expected her to make a comment.

"Nothing to say," she feels the need to repeat, though meekly.

"Good! Then let's move to clinical features of Grave's disease, or Graves-Basedow, as it is also called..."

Minutes pass and Cuddy remains silent, studiously taking notes, which surprises House a little as he was expecting her to interrupt the class like she did the first time. Since he has nothing to entertain him, he conspicuously leans down to her side to look over her shoulder at what she's writing. She doesn't say anything, but she wiggles in her seat every now and then as if she were trying to push him away, although it feels more like she's doing it for the sake of it, rather than because him practically invading her personal space seems to upset her.

"Don't write that down," he tells her at some point, putting his hand on her notepad.

She jerks her head to the side, pen mid-air, and looks at him intrigued.

"Why?"

"Because it's useless information. Only serves to counter-illustrate what the _real_ results should show."

As if on cue, Professor Fillmore announces that the onset of lab results he's just mentioned are, in fact, inconclusive and that he will now illustrate with a series of patients' studies what 'textbook' Grave's disease is.

Cuddy's mouth falls agape and she glances at House, looking rather impressed by his timing. In return, he flashes a smart-ass grin at her.

"Like you said: I'm familiar with the course of study, as much as with Fillmore's quite predictable antics," he says, sticking out his chest a little.

She rolls her eyes, faking dismay, but it's evident to him that she's also trying to repress a laugh.

She focuses back on her notes, and he keeps focusing on her, and then class comes to an end, surprisingly fast, at least faster than it usually does.

Have they really been sitting here for an hour already? It felt only like minutes to him, House thinks, as Lisa Cuddy starts gathering her stuff beside him. In doing so, she straightens up and moves away from him, and that's when he realizes he's been almost leaned against her the whole time, without really being aware of it. She starts getting up, and oddly enough, he instantly misses the closeness that allowed him to breathe in her scent... mostly citrusy, but with a hint of... vanilla? no, coconut, maybe...

She's standing up in front of him now, but she's obviously stalling – that's how he decides to interpret it, anyway – fumbling in her bag for God knows what. House promptly stands up, too, and they exit the class together, walking side by side, as if it were the most natural thing to do.

When they arrive in the hallway, she stops and looks up at him, expectantly, or so it seems, so he says the first thing that comes to his mind in that instant.

"Coffee?"

"I have another class," she says.

"Right now?"

"Eleven."

"That's in an hour."

She studies his face without saying a word for a minute.

"Don't _you_ have another class to attend?"

"Hmm... Well..." He pauses, and looks behind her towards the end of the hallway.

She turns around to follow his gaze. A few students from their Endocrinology class are talking as they start walking away, visibly heading to their next class. Cuddy turns again, and looks at him.

"Nope!" he says. "So? … Coffee?"

She checks her watch, and then nods, looking pleased. They start walking alongside each other, and after a few steps House hears the characteristic sound of a lollipop wrapper being tear opened.

"What are you, twelve?" he says, trying hard to resist looking at her while she's sucking on the piece of candy.

"Wha?" she says with her mouth full.

He stops without a warning, and swings to the side to face her.

"Your lollipop," he says accusingly. "Can you stop with that already?"

She pops the cherry-red candy out of her mouth and flashes a mischievous smile at him. Her lips shine with traces of liquid sugar, and it makes him want to groan for a reason he's unable to explain.

"What? Got a problem with that?" she simpers.

He shoots a quick glance at her left hand (the one holding the lollipop) and in one swift move, dexterously snatches it out of her grip before she can bat an eyelid. She watches him, stunned, as he pushes it between his lips and begins tasting it on his tongue.

"Not anymore," he says, and he starts striding away from her determinedly.

She scampers along to catch up with him, and when she does, she whacks him on the side of his arm.

"Hey! That was _my_ lollipop!"

He waggles his eyebrows playfully at her, and loudly sucks on the candy to taunt her.

"Hmm, tastes good," he teases.

"You're an ass," she says, and laughs. "And, just so you know, I've got more in my bag."

"I'm sure you do..."

…

They're seated in a little cafe not far from where she's supposed to have her next class. The place isn't too crowded, and House appreciates the quiescence of the moment, as he watches her sip her latte slowly.

"You were awfully quiet today for a girl with such a big mouth," he says after a while.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means I was expecting a show."

"What show?"

"Dunno, you seemed to have a lot of things to say last time."

He's studying her with a smile, relishing her slightly upset reaction. For some reason, Cuddy's buttons seem to be extremely easy to push, and House finds doing just that utterly entertaining in a way. Usually, people bore him after the first five minutes. They're either too dumb, or too uptight, or both, but this girl? she's definitely neither. She's... _interesting_.

"And? So did you. Still, you didn't even interrupt Fillmore once today."

"Meh. Wasn't worth it."

She puts her Styrofoam cup down on the table in front of her and stares intensely at him as if she were trying to read what's on his mind. Silence settles between them for a while.

"So you were at Johns Hopkins, uh?" she says out of the blue, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Wow. That was subtle," he says, sounding upset.

She squares her shoulders, and leans slightly forward over the table, looking completely unimpressed by his obvious annoyance.

"What? Isn't that the truth?" she asks with poise.

"Yeah, it is," he says, looking away.

"What happened?"

"Don't your gossiping self already know the answer to that?" he snaps sarcastically.

She recoils a bit and leans back in her chair, her expression one of vexation.

"I'm not a rumor-monger," she snaps back. "You're apparently a 'legend' around here (she air-quotes the word with a look of disdain on her face) which means _someone_ at this table must have told the story to begin with for it to spread like wildfire on campus. And that someone obviously isn't _me_!"

She plants her steel-gray eyes in his, and glares at him accusingly.

A smile flickers on the corner of House's lips. Damn, he thinks, she does look sexy when she's angry, and he can't deny that he likes being the one triggering that feeling in her somehow. Paradoxically, it also makes him want to be the one who will make it go away because he definitely likes seeing her _not_ angry, too...

His smile grows wider, and she must interpret it as mockery because she purses her lips and shakes her head.

"And I was _just_ making conversation," she says, still shaking her head. "I don't really ca-"

She stops in the middle of her sentence and studies his face, narrowing her eyes at him.

"You really are an ass," she decrees then.

"What do you want to know, Cuddy?" he says softly.

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on! You're dying to ask. I can tell," he teases.

She stares silently at him for a while.

"I don't understand," she finally says. "Why would someone like you cheat?"

"Someone like me?"

"Someone obviously smart enough not to have to do it."

"So that's it? That's your question?"

"What else do you want me to ask?"

"I don't know. I guess I wasn't expecting... _that_."

Everyone who knows about his situation has mostly been judgmental so far, or cynical – the 'you reap what you sow' kind of comments. In any case, no one has cared about the '_why_,' too eager to know the details of the 'how.'

But Cuddy, she's the first one to actually show interest in his motivations, or at least the first one who wants to know the reasons that prompted him to do it. It takes him by surprise. In a pleasant way.

"You sure you don't want to know what happened?" he tests her.

She shrugs.

"Why? Did you do it or not?"

"Yeah, I did," he says, looking her straight in the eyes, not really quite believing how unfazed she seems to be.

"Does it matter, then?" she says, with a smile.

He smiles back, appreciatively.

"Nope!"

"So?"

"Regulations are boring."

"What?"

She looks at him as if he's just spoken in Chinese.

"You heard me," he says, smiling at her. "Medicine is about diagnosing people. Well, it should be at least..."

"So... you gave regulations a miss? Is that why you cheated?"

"Yes. And no."

"What does that mean?"

"I _know_ regulations," he says, with a 'duh' face. "I just think they're useless sometimes. And _boring_."

She arches her eyebrows in mock surprise and stares at him with a disapproving look.

"Wow. This is stupid."

"I don't think it is."

"Why?" she asks challengingly.

"Because..." He leans forward, and plants his mischievous gaze in hers. "One day, even though those rules exist, we'll have to break them."

"No, we won't!" she exclaims.

"What if that was the only way to save someone's life?"

She puffs and rolls her eyes.

"That's... you..."

"What is it, Cuddy? You think rules are more important than patients?" he asks provokingly.

"No. I think rules are here to protect the patients."

"Oh," he says derisively. "So you're saying you're not willing to take risks?"

"I'm not saying that!" she protests. "I'm just-"

"You're just what?"

His smile is teasing.

"When you cheated, you broke a rule," she says, straightening up. "Look where it got you."

She flashes a victorious smile at him, looking happy with her witty comeback.

"That's why it's called taking risks," he says, unruffled. "Doesn't mean there won't ever be consequences."

Her mouth falls agape and she stares at him, stunned.

"So what? You knew the risks, and you still did it, like, it didn't matter?"

"Oh, it did. But how can you tell if the result is worth the risk if you never try?" he asks with a smart-ass grin.

She waves her hand in front of her and shakes her head in dismay.

"Wow. You're..." Her eyes are intensely scrutinizing him, as if she hoped the adjective that would best describe him was somehow written on his forehead. "Crazy," she finally opts to say.

"I get that a lot."

"And that surprises you?"

"No," he says with honesty.

He falls silent for a while, and averts his eyes, looking outside the cafe's window at the groups of students passing by.

"People are morons," he adds out of the blue.

He turns his head in her direction again and finds her staring at him, looking genuinely intrigued. He's never quite known anyone who was willing to _listen_ to him before, the way she is, now: with an open-mind and genuine interest, and most of all, without prejudice. It makes him want to keep talking to her, without censoring himself. He feels like he can really speak freely with her, and that it won't scare her away because of his life philosophy that resembles that of a sociopath or, if anything, that of an unconventional jerk.

And who likes unconventional jerks, really?

"Medicine is not predefined by clear paths, or predictable patterns," he explains. "Well, for the most part, it is, but what's interesting is the unpredictable."

"And why exactly does that make people morons?" she asks, sounding amused.

"Because they all think inside the box. Med-schools teach doctors how to identify 'A,' by every rule and symptom that should define it, and at some point they forget there are other letters in the alphabet, or even other _alphabets_..."

She looks confused for a second and he smiles at her.

"That's a metaphor."

"I know," she says with a 'duh' face.

"I want to know every alphabet," he says solemnly.

"Me, too."

"I mean, if I _know_ there's another way to write 'A' out there, I don't want to pretend like I don't see it just because that's not how I was trained to think."

She silently nods and, for a fleeting glimpse, he spots a hint of admiration in her gaze. It makes him want to stick out his chest with pride.

"Well, I still wouldn't do it," she says after a while.

"Do what?"

"Cheat."

"Why, because you'd be too afraid to get caught?" he mocks.

She juts her chin up and stares at him with a look of defiance on her face.

"No. Because I wouldn't want to owe my success to anyone but me," she says, with a definite tone.

His eyes widen and, for a split second, he can't decide if it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, or the bravest.

"If that's how you think, then you're a utopian, Cuddy," he tells her.

"And you, House, are a cynic."

"I like to call it realistic."

She smiles. And he smiles back.

And then, suddenly, her smile fades and panic spreads on her face.

"Fuck!" she exclaims. "It's ten past eleven! I'm late for class."

"Look at you, you little rebel," he teases. "You've just broken the punctuality rule!"

She hastily gathers her stuff and leaps to her feet, shooting him a fake glare.

"Thanks for the latte," she says. "And... the conversation."

Without waiting for his answer, she hastily strides towards the exit and starts running as soon as she steps out of the cafe.

He watches her through the window, until she becomes an indistinct silhouette in the distance.

He stands up, unaware of the smile that's still plastered on his face, and something strikes him just then, like evidence: He's not going to wait until the next class to see her again. He needs to see her before that.

Where? How? He has no idea. He just knows that he has to...

(…)

* * *

_**A/N**_

_Someone in the comments for the previous chapter said that in season 6 House told Cuddy that, after their one-night stand, he received a call from the dean and that's when he was expelled from his 'first' med-school, which is why it would mean that Johns Hopkins came after Michigan…_

_So I just wanted to reply to that._

_First of all, don't apologize for saying this. I'm open to any comments, and I really mean it when I say this. I am perfectly aware that people not sharing my point of views, the choices I make, or the pairing I explore, and even the vision I have of the characters IS pretty much inevitable along the way. If these people still wanted to read my stories and comment them, I'd feel very much honored if they took the time to pause whatever they are doing to give something they are apparently skeptical about a chance. _

_The thing is, I don't share my writing because I expect people to tell me that I'm 100% right in return. Because I'm surely not, and I'd sincerely find it enriching to learn why._

_However, and this is why I decided to reply – not because the comment in itself bugged me – I thought it was the perfect opportunity to share with you my vision of writing._

_Actually, "writing" (as in putting the story I want to tell into actual words) is only ONE part of my process. This one is undeniably fiction – even more so given that the time setting refers to an AU part of the series that was never shown – and still, whenever I write (and I mean, not just fanfictions) I always try, as much as I can, to root my writing in solid references so that it stays decently plausible for the readers. Sometimes, I confess, it's also probably just me being a bit obsessive about accuracy…_

_Anyway, what I mean is that whenever I decide to write a story about House and Cuddy, I always try my best to respect what I know from the show and the characters, even if it means doing research to double check what I want to evoke, or make a medical conversation sound *plausible*… So when I decided to write about House and Cuddy's first time, I knew that I'd have to make up most of the story and fill in the blanks because we were only given very little references about it in the actual show, but I still conscientiously looked for all of them: I reread transcripts of the episodes that mentioned Michigan, or that period, even just hinted at that period, and I mean, not necessarily conversations between House and Cuddy._

_I read several fictional biographies of House and Cuddy (from different *reliable* sites) and decided that what was mentioned with consistency in every one of them would be my fictional truth. I did it so that I would make sure I got their past right: what they did, how old they were when they graduated, when they met, where they'd lived, what were their hobbies, their specialties, their families, their beliefs, etc._

_Since I've never set foot in Ann-Arbor, I looked at pictures, and a google map of the campus to have a visual of what it must look like. I chose *real* building names (with specificities such as: provides single rooms, or mostly houses second-year students, etc.) and tried, as much as I could, to place them correctly on campus. _

_For the "scenes" I wrote in Endocrinology class, I research several hormonal diseases until I found one that would make the interactions between House / Cuddy and Professor Fillmore sound realistic, medically accurate, and not completely boring! :P_

_For one of the upcoming chapters, I also read articles on Astrophysics (specifically dark matter, dark holes, neutrinos and other fun stuff) to throw in a few plausible references during a conversation between House and Cuddy. _

_For the "dance" ("Remember the last time we danced? Med-school, the week we met.") I chose a song that – in my opinion - has a specific meaning for House in the show but made sure that it was actually possible for it to be heard at that time, which is why I chose the year 1987 because I found out that it was released in early September that year and quickly became top of the charts in the US…_

_And, call me crazy, I even looked up the actual weather report in Ann-Arbor for September 1987 because I wanted to make sure that the clothes I had Cuddy wear were actually acceptable given the real temperatures…_

_So given what I read of House and Cuddy's past, and what I found in the transcripts while preparing this story, I just wanted to say that, indeed, House never called Cuddy because he received a call from the Dean that said he'd been expelled from his __**first **__med-school, but that med-school was really Johns Hopkins because it came before Michigan…. He received a call from the dean, and that means he had to repeat his fourth year. "There didn't seem any point" as House says to Cuddy in Known Unnknowns… So, yes, it is widely open to interpretation from then on because one has to wonder – if House was actually in UMich at the time – why the hell he couldn't actually keep seeing Cuddy, but apparently the explanation is that he withdrew from his social life… I've tried to give that cryptic explanation some acceptable meaning and I hope that it will be satisfying for the most of you. If it's not, I am genuinely open to any of your comments, and personal ideas on the subject._

_Anyway, thank you everyone, for reading and commenting. I'm very grateful for the interest you're showing in this story._

_Sorry for the ass-long A/N… :P_

_Have a nice day ~ maya_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you to everyone who has read this story so far._

_And a special, very grateful thanks to those of you who took the time to leave me a comment on the last chapter: Abby, JLCH, Drdiagnostic, azes, freeasabird14, HuddyGirl, Guest, Jessica, dlb42694, Guest, Guest._

_Your words mean a lot to me._

House: "You remember the last time we danced? Med school, the week we met. (…) Tracked you down to the hoedown."  
Cuddy: "I tracked _you_ down. Endocrinology… The party." ( S06E07 Known Unknowns)

* * *

**** THE FIRST TIME **  
****- Chapter 5 -**

She's been tracking him down.

And to be quite honest, she's not even ashamed of it. First, thanks to Dave, it wasn't hard to know more about his schedule. That's how she learned he was attending Endocrinology classes on Mondays and Thursdays.

Then, it took her two weeks of administrative procedure to get the green light to audit it.

When she finally got there the first time, she almost doubted the ingenuity of her master plan when Gregory House was a no-show after fifteen minutes of class. She felt stupid then, not to mention screwed, given that she'd basically signed for a one-hour class, at 9 am, twice a week, _just_ to see him, while she'd otherwise meticulously planned her class schedule so that every one of her mornings would be free.

So, really, what exactly was her sacrifice worth if he obviously wasn't even going to be there? When he finally showed up, obnoxiously nonchalant as ever, she'd felt ridiculously relieved. For about ten seconds. Because, of course, Gregory House had paid no attention to her whatsoever; which was highly predictable, but had strangely not even crossed her mind: What was she thinking? That because she would be there, seated in the same class as he was, suddenly he was going to notice her?

Well, surely not! So she'd done the exact opposite of what a girl like her would have done in any other circumstances: She'd been annoyingly conspicuous in the hope that he would notice her presence. And it had worked like a charm...

Who cared that she'd felt mortified to dare interrupt poor Professor Fillmore who didn't fail to let her know how inappropriate he thought her behavior was with a few glaring looks? Eventually, not only had Gregory House seen her, he'd also visibly appreciated the 'show' - as he'd put it himself.

She was more than a little proud of herself, indeed, when he 'accidently' bumped into her after class. Well, of course, he did! She'd made very sure of that, perfectly calculating the timing of her leaving, so that they would happen to be in the hallway at the same time. Then, all she had to hope for was that her little interventions in class – plus the help of that short, black skirt she'd chosen just for the occasion – would be intriguing enough for him to want to know more about her…

Actually, if he hadn't stopped her in the hallway, God only knows what she'd have done. She was not the kind of girl who was used to not getting exactly what she wanted, the way she wanted it. And she certainly did want to know more about him.

Second class of Endocrinology hadn't disappointed. He'd probably deny it, but she isn't stupid: She knows he expected her to sit next to him. She enjoyed their closeness, and the way he casually leaned toward her, making it look like it wasn't affecting him. He was good at pretending, she'd thought then. But so was she. She could perfectly fake being unfazed, or conceal the proof of the light arousal that she'd felt when he was whispering close to her ear. It was a game; one that she definitely loved playing with him.

What she'd loved the most, though, was the hour she'd spent with him in that little cafe after class. Gregory House was exactly like she'd imagined he would be: a lunatic, with unconventional, but brilliant thoughts. And she'd found that – and him – truly fascinating.

It was not just the way he looked (and yet, damn, did he look sexy!) it was everything else: The way he seemed so full of self-confidence, how he was talking about medicine, how passionate he was, how reckless, and yet, highly rational he sounded.

She could have spent hours talking with him. It was completely paradoxical because, come to think of it, he was advocating the exact opposite of what she believed in: Empathy, discipline, hard work.

Still, he surely wasn't lazy. And, of course, he was extremely intelligent. That was another undeniable fact about him. He made everything sound like it was easy, and evident, but his nonchalance was an act, of that she was sure. Somehow, she knew he must have worked hard to get what he wanted, too.

Why did he have to cheat? That she didn't understand. But his speech about breaking the rules by necessity had made a deep impression on her. She couldn't condone it, but, at the same time, she couldn't entirely condemn it either; which was strange. She understood him when he spoke of wanting to "know every alphabet" and not just the basics that would be taught in med school.

She couldn't deny the fact that his intellectual curiosity and his obvious craving for knowledge – although quite unconventional to say the least – were a sort of turn-on to her. She admired intelligence, determination, and assertiveness. Those were qualities far more attractive to her than a set of toned abs, or a cute face… And House? Well, she didn't know about the abs (although she suspected his must be quite nice) but she could tell he had brains.

When was the last time she'd met a man so passionate about his field of expertise he was willing to risk everything just to have a grasp at the unknown, or the unpredictable? Never.

In truth, Cuddy had never met a man like House before. She's a little dizzy just realizing how that simple admission makes her feel.

So yes, she's been tacking him down.

In Endocrinology.

And now, at the party.

She cannot satisfy herself with just seeing him in class anymore. She wants to spend more time with him, talk to him again. She wants him to look at her like he does, with that taunting gaze of his that seems to relish seeing her argue with him, challenge him.

…

It's Friday. There are several parties on campus, and she has absolutely no idea which one he's going to go to, or if he's even going to show up at any of them. She's been partying during the most part of August and she's never seen him before. She would have remembered.

She's still going out, though, because she likes to have fun but she hopes to see him, and there's no denying the fact that she chose her outfit thinking about him for that exact reason: A short, white cotton, ruffled skirt, a red tee-shirt that enhances her boobs quite nicely, and a pair of red, strappy sandals to match her tee.

Rebecca, Dave and a few friends accompany her. They head to Stockwell Hall first, which mostly houses second-year med students because Rebecca has a few friends there that are throwing a party tonight.

The place is full of students that are all quite tipsy and pretty excited already when they arrive. The music is loud, and the booze is passing from hand to hand in a joyful cacophony. A few of Rebecca's friends spot them as they're edging their way through the crowd and join their group. They talk. They laugh. They even dance a little. There's this guy, Adam, who's in class with Becca, and who not so subtly tries to make a move with Cuddy, using every pretext he can to lean way too close to her face to talk to her, touch her arm, or grab her waist, supposedly to shield her from the flow of people coming in and out of the place.

It's hot, and too noisy, and Lisa really doesn't care about Adam that much. In truth, he's starting to annoy her. She's scanned the room several times, and she already knows House isn't here. It doesn't surprise her. For some reasons, she has a hard time picturing him in the middle of such a loud, silly bunch of people.

After less than half an hour, she already feels the urge to go. She's trying to smile, and laugh, but her mind is obviously elsewhere.

"I'm leaving," she shouts to Rebecca, who's talking with her friends on a couch a few feet away from her.

"What? Why? Are you feeling ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just tired," she lies. "Plus, I have a feeling Lamb is going to give us a spot test Monday. I should go back to study."

Rebecca frowns, not quite convinced by her friend's excuse, but she doesn't insist, which Cuddy is grateful for. They say goodbye and she leaves, sighing in relief when she finally exits the building and gets to breathe some fresh air.

She tries two different parties after that.

One obviously organized by the football team, full of blond, bimbo cheerleaders and boorish, muscled guys who try to grope her when she walks past them. She sends them a death glare and snaps a biting remark, and they recoil, laughing and making some stupid innuendos about her being a tease to downplay their inappropriate behavior. She's sincerely happy, and more than relieved not to find House there.

She's no luckier at the second party, something that looks more like a quiet bookworms' gathering than a fun place to be. And, of course, House isn't there, either.

She starts to feel a little hopeless when she gets in her car to head to a hoedown in North Campus, thinking that she will probably not see him at all tonight.

When she arrives, the party is already in full bloom. People seem to really have fun. She recognizes several faces amongst them, from her undergraduate classes. Some others are probably first-years, but the average age is closer to hers than at the other parties she's been to so far. She's so used to hanging out with Rebecca and her friends, all older than her, that she's forgotten about the existence of freshmen's parties. Two girls and a guy from her biochemistry class recognize her and wave at her. Cuddy smiles back and joins them. They talk for a while, and then the first guitar notes of KC & the Sunshine band's '_Get Down Tonight_' start echoing in the air and everyone hoots and hollers in excitement, hopping along to the dance floor.

Cuddy's friends encourage her to follow. She hesitates for a second, preoccupied with scanning the room in the hope that, maybe, House will be here. He isn't, though, so she decides she'd better leave for good this time, and stop looking for him. Her mind is made up: She's not going to track him down in every meter square on Campus.

But why would she care, after all? She likes that KC & The Sunshine Band's song a lot. Everyone is having so much fun right now, dancing only a few feet away from her. To hell with House! She decides to join her friends on the dance floor. She closes her eyes and loses herself to the music for a minute, swaying her hips to the rhythm and waving her arms up the air.

And then, suddenly, she feels the intensity of a stare on her. It's undefined, but still as vivid as if she could see it with her own eyes.

She opens them, and she sees _him_. He's standing near the bar, leaned against the counter, with a glass in his hand. And he's looking at her. When their gazes lock, for a brief second, he nods – almost imperceptibly – and she resists the urge to wave at him. She smiles instead, and then resumes dancing, turning her back to him and hopping along with her friends.

He's here. That's the only thing that matters. Funnily enough, she has no specific plan. She just wanted to see him, but she actually hasn't thought beyond the part where she would, indeed, bump into him at a party. One thing is certain, though: There is no way she's going to make the first move, now. She's seen him. He's seen her. If something happens, it will have to come from him.

She keeps dancing, but she conspicuously avoids looking in his direction. She's moving in a way that she _knows_ will affect him; because it is simply how she intends it to be. Well, it certainly does affect a guy, at some point, who's shuffling along towards her, until he stops right in front of her, and begins swaying his hips in sync with hers to the music, coming so close to her, his body almost touches hers.

"_Do a little dance  
__Make a little love  
__Get down tonight  
__Get down tonight"_

She's perfectly aware of what the lyrics are saying right in that moment, and what the guy next to her is doing, trying to get her to rub herself against him, smiling seductively at her. She plays along, for a few seconds, just because she feels like she can, and she's the one having the power.

She knows House must be watching her so she's walking that thin, teasing line, and she's doing it _deliberately_. However, when the guy's moves start becoming a little bit too pushful for her taste, she regains control over the situation, smiling at him in a way that says she's appreciated their little dance so far, but has had enough of it now. She puts some distance between them, and turns her shoulders in the opposite direction, so that she won't have to face him anymore.

The game has lasted long enough, anyway. She's smiling when her swaying moves make her turn around and face the place where House is standing, near the bar, looking at her…

Except that, when she looks in the direction where he's supposed to be, he's not there anymore.

She stops moving abruptly, and freezes in the middle of the dance floor, looking lost and confused. And then, she instantly feels ashamed, and guilty, for overplaying a teasing game she obviously only _thought_ she could master but which pathetically just blown up in her face.

She stares at the empty spot where she was sure he was standing only minutes before and feels like a stupid, unexperienced teenager who's just played with fire and burned herself.

She whirls around to scan the place in the hope that, maybe, he hasn't really left, and all the air escapes her lungs in one puff when she comes face to face with him, standing right in front of her on the dance floor, merely a few feet away from her.

"Looking for someone?" he says with an infuriatingly self-satisfied smile.

She puffs, trying to control the thudding heartbeats in her chest and to appear unimpressed at the same time.

The last groovy notes of '_Get Down Tonight_' are still echoing in the air.

"_Get down, get down, get down, get down  
__Get down tonight, baby!"_

House makes a ridiculously clumsy, swinging move with his hips just then, and his smile grows wider.

"Care to dance?" he says, stepping closer to her, still swaying to the funky beat of the song.

She smiles back, and all her feelings of unease and confusion instantly vanish in the air.

She moves with him, close, but not too close, and it quickly becomes evident he's not born to dance. His attempts at trying to keep up with her are making her want to burst into laughter. She throws her head back and does just that, and then, acting on impulse, she puts her hands on his hips to guide him to move in sync with her. He briefly looks down at the spot where her hands rest on his waist and then looks up again, locking eyes with her.

"You're terrible at this!" she says, shaking her head.

He conspicuously shakes his ass left and right once and rolls his eyes theatrically.

"_Me,_ terrible?" he jokes. "I don't think so!"

The song fades out, and is instantly followed by another tune. Cuddy recognizes it within the first slow and characteristically languorous bars of percussions.

_The Lady in Red._

House stops dancing, and stands, immobile in front of her, unabashedly eyeing her up and down. His gaze lingers on the cleavage of her red tee-shirt for a second, and then he looks her straight in the eyes, as if he were waiting for her to decide what to do next. She bites her bottom lip and takes a step closer. He smiles, and puts his arms on her waist. Tentatively.

She sucks in a sharp breath and puts her hands on his shoulders, not really daring to wrap them around his neck.

They sway together to the slow rhythm of the song in silence for a minute. Just looking each other in the eyes and little by little, she feels his hands sliding to the small of her back, and his arms holding her tighter. She closes the distance between them and moves her hands to his nape.

Their chests practically touch now, and she looks up at him with a shy smile.

"You're doing much better with slow dances," she says coyly.

"It's not really dancing," he says, shrugging. "Unless I do… _this_!"

Without a warning, he grabs hold of one of her hands and pushes her away from him, making her spin with the whirling movement of his wrist. She squeals, and he catches her back in his arms, instantly repositioning his palms on the small of her back, and – as she doesn't fail to notice – pressing her a little closer against him.

"Impressive," she says mockingly.

"Years of practice," he deadpans.

"I'm sure."

"So Friday is the day when you slip on your party pants and go dancing, uh?" he asks out of the blue.

"My what?" she says with a smile.

"You heard me," he says, shooting her a pointed look.

"I'm wearing a skirt."

"Oh, I noticed… But you know what I mean: Pants, panties…"

She widens her eyes in mock surprise.

"What about you?" she says.

"Am I wearing party pants?"

She chortles.

"Do you often go to parties?"

"Sometimes... Not really."

"Hmm, I see," she says studying his face.

He's looking down at her, his eyebrows arched in a somewhat challenging way.

"Funny coincidence meeting you here tonight, then," she adds, planting her gaze in his.

"Funny coincidence, yep…"

Crowded House's _Don't Dream It's Over _comes next, and they keep slow dancing, almost unaware of the change of songs. The touch of his hands on her lower back starts making her feel funny. She takes deep breaths, and leans her forehead against his collarbone for a while, just swaying with him to the music and trying not to think. There's a need growing inside of her, and she can _feel_ it gathering at the center of her core. She starts fidgeting in his arms, in spite of herself, as if she were afraid he might feel it, too.

"Stop. Doing. That," he whispers in her ear with a compelling tone.

It sends a shiver down her spine. She licks her bottom lip and involuntarily rubs herself against him again – or maybe it's deliberate – to steady herself.

She hears him take a deep breath, and his hands slowly travel lower to her ass… But he's only begun to brush the top curve of her butt when the last notes of Crowded House's song start fading, quickly replaced by George Michael's latest mega hit, _Faith_.

As the now famous guitar riffs of the intro start filling the air, she jumps in excitement and pulls back. She adores that song. As she jerkily rocks her hips to the music, House watches her, intensely staring at her with a knowing look.

_Well I guess it would be nice  
If I could touch your body  
I know not everybody  
Has got a body like you  
_

She doesn't notice _that_ look in his eyes right away. She's too busy loosening up and mouthing the lyrics without even being aware of it…

_But I've got to think twice  
Before I give my heart away_

All of a sudden, she's reminded of his presence when he grabs her by the wrist, and pulls her to him, planting his gaze in her gaze with intent…

_**And I know all the games you play  
Because I play them too**_

She flashes a mischievous smile at him and frees her wrist from his grip. She just wants to keep dancing, and she does, and the song goes on, until House finally starts dancing with her again.

_Yes, I've got to have faith  
__Faith, faith, faith…_

She turns around, her back to him, and she sways and rocks, and then she can feel his hands on her hips, guiding her movements.

It goes on like that for a little while, until at some point he whirls her around inside his arms and she comes face to face with him again.

_Oh Baby I reconsider  
__My foolish notion  
__Well I need someone to hold me  
__But I'll wait for something more_

This is when the song comes to an abrupt halt for a few seconds, and during that fleeting moment of complete silence that seems to last forever, his arm, tightly wrapped around her waist, holds her closer to him than before.

Her mouth is slightly ajar, and she's a little short of breath from dancing. She lifts up her face to look at him and then she sees it in his gaze: His pupils are dilated, and his eyes, still intensely blue, just a little darker than usual.

_Desire._

_Yes, I've got to have faith  
__Mmm, I've got to have faith  
__Faith, faith, faith…_

"Let's get out of here," she hears herself say just as the song ends.

(...)

* * *

_**A/N**_

_So, as you might have guessed, Faith is the 'significant' song I chose for the "dance" because, as I found out when I checked, it was released (conveniently for me) in early September 1987 (yay!) so it allowed me to tie it with that scene where House sings it in the episode 'Wilson.' I've always thought that the song had some meaning for House, in relation with Cuddy, and more specifically their past…_

_Plus, let's be honest, the lyrics were too perfect to miss the opportunity to use it for the occasion. Also, if you listen to the song, there's indeed that little pause just before the last chorus, and I don't know, I just can't help visualizing the two of them staring at each other and realizing that something is happening between them in that extra fleeting moment of silence…_

_Because "one thing led to another," right? ;P_

_Have a nice day _

_Thank you for reading ~ maya_


	6. Chapter 6

_A very grateful thank you to all of you who have left me a few words and shared their thoughts with me in the comment section for the previous chapter: JLCH, lenasti16, ClareBear14 (why apologize?), Arya, Guest, Sandy, azes, Guest, freeasabird14, Abby, Guest, sweetsaucy, MWoods78, HuddyGirl, Guest, MystryGAB, Amandak82, and Jessica._

_Your kind words really touched me a lot._

_Now on to the next chapter; closer… but not quite *there* yet… I hope you'll still enjoy reading it._

"And one thing led to another." (House – 'Known Unknowns')

* * *

**** THE FIRST TIME **  
**– **Chapter 6 – **

She didn't have to ask twice.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

So he grabbed her by the hand, and in less than thirty seconds, they were out of the place.

Once outside, the music instantly becomes a distant, almost inaudible beat, and everything around them feels awkwardly silent. He lets go of her hand, and she stands beside him, slightly panting – probably because she had to run a bit to keep up with his striding pace. By the way she's shooting alternative glances at him then at her surroundings, he can't help but think that she looks like someone who's just been jolted out of deep sleep and has woken up in a foreign country.

A deer caught in the headlights, he thinks, as she's surely only now fully realizing what her little teasing bombshell really implies.

Maybe he is a jerk, but he's not _that_ kind of jerk, so he's already getting ready to hear whatever pretext she's going to make up now to have an excuse to leave, and because he somehow understands why, he even downplays the undeniable upcoming blow by flashing a comprehensive smile at her.

Too bad, he inwardly tells himself. He'd have loved to spend more time with her. The truth is, he's tracked her down on campus for most part of the evening, and it's taken him almost an hour and no less than four different parties to finally find her. He should have thought about the hoedown first, though. People there seemed to be more of her age…

He waits for her to say her goodbyes, as he expects her to, but once more, she takes him completely off guard when she reacts in a way he hadn't anticipated.

"If I weren't inside just a few minutes ago, I'd start thinking there's something wrong in there," she says. "You made me run away like the place was on fire!"

His mouth falls agape for a split second, and his eyes widen in surprise. That girl is really something else! He quickly grabs hold of himself, and shoots her a mocking smile.

"Long legs," he deadpans, looking down at his thighs. "Short legs," he adds, staring at hers. "Basic anatomy."

She rolls her eyes in fake dismay.

"Not saying they don't look great," he says, smiling.

"Sure, you're not!" she says knowingly, and she starts walking away from him.

He watches her for a little while, rooted to his spot, undeniably relishing her unique hip sway.

"You coming?" she asks, turning around to face him, and looking at him with a smile that says she perfectly knows he was checking her out.

He swiftly shakes his head left and right once and catches up with her.

"Where exactly are we going?" he asks.

"Don't know."

There's a bench, just a few feet away from them. Before he can say anything, she quickly moves towards it and sits down.

He joins her, and sits down next to her. The night is dark but the temperature is still decently warm for a late September evening. He should be grateful for that, he thinks, as he glances at her bare legs, barely covered by her ruffled shirt.

"You cold?" he still asks her, not really knowing what else to say.

She shakes her head 'no,' and leans back against the bench's backrest, stretching her legs in front of her and crossing them at the ankles.

"I'm good," she replies evenly.

He's feeling like a teenager in that instant, and it's odd. If anything, it's not something he's used to experiencing anymore as it's been a while since he's felt that way in the presence of a girl. He barely dares to look at her and minutes pass without them exchanging a single word.

They should probably part, he tells himself, and he should be the one initiating it, maybe. But he doesn't want to leave – leave _her_ - so at some point, not really knowing what else to do he searches in the inner pocket of his leather jacket and fishes a little silver flask out of it. He opens it and brings it to his mouth, drinking the strong amber liquid that's inside with as much casualness as he can muster.

He feels her gaze on him as he does so he hands her the flask without looking at her.

"Want some?" he offers.

"What's that?"

"Bourbon."

There's a beat during which he can picture her hesitate beside him, but she finally takes the flask from his hands and brings it to her lips to drink after him.

She coughs immediately after having swallowed the first sip, and he can't repress a smile as he's anticipated that exact reaction from her, suspecting that she was surely not the kind of girl used to drinking alcohol, even less Bourbon. Somehow, he also suspects she still did it because it must have been a challenge for her; against him, or herself, he doesn't know, but both ideas undeniably make him smile.

"Strong?" he teases.

"A little…" she says with a raspy voice.

He takes the flask back, and puts it on the bench between them. She sighs, and he turns to the side to look at her. Her head is tilted backwards and she's looking at the sky so he leans back, and looks up at the stars, too.

"Did you know that over eighty per cent of what you're looking at right now is made of dark matter?" he says after a moment of silence.

"You mean, like, black holes?"

"Not really," he says. "Hypothetically, dark matter is predominantly nonbaryonic."

She jerks her head to the side and shoots him a quizzical look.

"Means, it neither includes protons, nor neutrons."

"So what is it made of?"

"Ha! Good question… Neutrinos probably."

"Neutri-what?"

"Particles that aren't affected by electromagnetism."

She doesn't say anything, and, as he's forcefully trying to keep his gaze focused straight above him at the sky, he can feel the intensity of her stare on him.

"You know how they're called?" he adds without looking at her.

"No. But I'm guessing _you_ do—"

"WIMP."

"Excuse me?" she says with a quiet laugh.

The sound, low and slightly throaty, makes his heart skip a beat. He really does like the sound of her laugh, he thinks, as he turns to the side to look at her again.

"Weakly Interactive Massive Particles," he explains.

"Oh," she says, nodding in mocked appreciation. "How do you know that, anyway?"

"I considered a PhD in Physics a few years ago."

"Really?"

She sits up straight, and turns to the side on the bench to face him.

"Why didn't you do it, then? Because you were caught cheating?" she teases sassily.

He puffs loudly, but can't repress a smile.

"Aren't we funny?" he jibes.

She bows her head, theatrically, as if to greet an invisible audience.

"No. I think I wanted to be a doctor more," he simply says, looking at the sky almost pensively.

"Why did you want to become a doctor?"

"To save people's lives," he replies, reciting the stereotypical answer he thinks she probably expects.

But then, out of the blue, she smacks him on the side of his arm, and he jumps with surprise, straightening up, and sending her a glare.

"Come on," she says, totally unimpressed. "Give me the _real_ reason."

"Who says it isn't?"

"I do. Saving people's lives is bullshit."

"Huh? So you're saying _you_ want to become a doctor to kill people?" he says, faking to be horrified. "Attention everyone—" he shouts with his hands cupping his mouth.

"I mean," she interrupts, "I'm sure there's another reason beside that one."

She plants her eyes in his and stares at him with a gaze so intense it feels like she can read his mind. It sends a shiver down his spine.

"Why would there be?"

"Because… All the alphabets," she says knowingly.

He sucks in a sharp breath and an unexpected feeling of warmth spreads inside him. She really does listen to him. More than that: she _understands_. It comforts him in a way he hasn't experienced in a long time.

"You're right," he admits. "There's another reason."

"Tell me."

She's not just asking, she's _demanding_ an answer. And oddly enough, he finds that strangely attractive, coming from her: She looks so young, so… petite, and yet there's an undeniable strength that emanates from her which somehow impresses him. He'd surely rebuff anyone who'd try to tell him what to do, or how, because he's had enough of authoritarianism in his life to have developed a strong feeling of rejection towards authority, but Lisa Cuddy is different. He saw her dance with that guy earlier, and it isn't hard to see that this girl knows what she wants and, most of all, how to get it… It should irk him because he usually doesn't like little pests who enjoy twisting guys around their little fingers, and yet, there's no denying the fact that he finds it more intriguing than annoying in her case. As if there was something about it that hid more than just what appearances betray, something he definitely wants to know more about…

When he visibly takes too much time to her liking to give her the answer she's demanded, she nudges him in the shoulder impatiently.

"I want to be the one with the answers," he finally says, his voice low.

He's half-expecting her to mock him then, and stiffens a little on the bench, steeling himself for a smart-ass, cynical comeback. Instead, she nods quietly, and encourages him to elaborate with a quizzical look.

"When I was in Japan—"

"You went to Japan?" she says admiringly.

"I lived there. My dad was stationed there when I was fourteen…"

"Cool!"

"I guess." He shrugs and looks away for a split second.

"So what happened?"

"There was that guy in the hospital, tokushu buraku—"

"Huh?"

"An outcast, if you prefer."

"Oh. So let me guess… He'd caught an impossibly rare, exotic disease-"

A smile flickers on the corner of his lips, and he shoots a glance at her, pleased with himself to see that she's a million miles away from guessing the truth.

"No," he interrupts. "Actually, he was a doctor."

She arches her eyebrows in genuine surprise.

"But… You just said he was, like, a pariah," she says intrigued.

"Yes. And he was. He worked as a janitor in the hospital. Wore barely decent clothes, never talked to anyone. Most of the time, people avoided him, and he avoided people… Except when they needed him. Because he _knew_ things that even the real doctors in lab coats didn't know. So when they got stuck at a dead end and couldn't find the solution—"

"They asked him," she says, nodding her head in understanding.

"Yeah," he whispers, averting his eyes.

"The man with the answers," she says, echoing his previous confession.

"And quite an unconventional social misfit, too," she adds, smiling knowingly at him.

He silently nods, words feeling useless to him in that instant. She frowns a little and narrows her eyes at him to study his face, like he's now used to seeing her do, as if she were trying to read him between the lines, or decipher all the things that he leaves deliberately unsaid because he simply doesn't feel the need to share them with people.

Except Lisa Cuddy is not like everyone else, of that he's sure. She seems eager to know the answers, too, and something tells him she's surely just as stubborn as he is in her quest to find them.

"What about you?" he asks, after a moment of silence.

"My dad's a doctor-"

"Daddy's girl, uh?" he teases.

She shoots him a half-glare to shush him which makes him smile even wider.

"So was my grand-father. And my great grand-father," she adds.

"Perpetuating the family's tradition—"

"Not just that."

He arches his eyebrows, curious.

"Being a doctor is great. But—"

"What?"

"Medicine is about opportunities. And there's so much to do out there," she says, staring ahead, as if she were talking to herself.

"So what? You're going to cure cancer, or something?" he says with a slightly teasing edge to his voice.

"I don't know. I just… I want to make a difference," she declares solemnly.

He smiles, shooting her a side glance.

"Something to prove, uh?"

"Says the guy who wants to know everything," she replies without missing a beat.

"Not everything. Just the truth."

"Yeah."

She stares at him for a second, and then snatches the flask of Bourbon that he's put on the bench moments before. He watches her, amused, as she unscrews the cap, and then throws her head back, drinking a large gulp out of the bottle. When she straightens up, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and shoots him a coy smile. Her eyes shine with that little sparkle of mischief that makes him feel funny, and also renders him mostly speechless; something he finds ridiculously stupid but is totally unable to fight. So he takes the flask from her hand, to try and stay composed, and he drinks, too. She doesn't say anything, and after a little while he notices her shivering slightly next to him.

"Cold?"

"A bit."

He sucks in a sharp breath because he knows that now is the universal, cliché moment when the guy is supposed to do something manly like offer his jacket to the girl, or wrap his arm around her shoulders to warm her, but he doesn't have time to decide which one he'd rather go for because, before he can make a move, she stands up and looks down at him with an undecipherable smile.

"I should go," she says with a pout, wiggling her shoulders a bit.

"Ok," he whispers, feeling undeniably disappointed, but trying not to sound like he is too much.

There's a long beat during which she keeps staring at him without budging.

"Can you drive me back to my room?" she finally says, and he could swear he's heard a hint of impatience behind her voice.

He didn't expect her to say that, at all. Her question, enounced with disarming naturalness, takes him completely off guard and he gawks at her, his eyes wide with stunned surprise.

"I came here with some friends," she adds, ever so slightly rolling her eyes at him. "In _their _car."

"Oh. Where do you stay?"

"Betsy Barbour. It's on Central campus-"

"Hmm, quite a long walk from here… Sucks, indeed," he says, and a teasing smile flickers on the corner of his lips.

She puffs, and it feels like she's trying to figure out whether he's serious or not so he deliberately chooses to leave her hanging a little while longer, relishing her upset look as he studies her, and rubs his chin pensively, faking to be considering what to do.

Finally deciding that the game has lasted long enough, he gets up and stands right in front of her, hovering over her petite frame.

"Fine," he grumbles, just for the sake of making her think that he's not especially enthusiastic at the idea (when the truth is, he _is_, quite undeniably very much enthusiastic…)

He starts striding determinedly towards the parking lot and she follows behind him without saying a word, until he stops in front of his bike, parked in an isolated corner.

"Of course, I should have known that you'd be riding a bike," she says with her arms akimbo, as she stares at the motorcycle in front of her.

"Not _a_ bike," he says, with a proud, boyish grin. "A Honda CB 750 Four."

She shakes her head in fake dismay and waves her hand in the air, in a sort of 'whatever' gesture.

"You ever got on a bike before?"

She looks at him with a 'duh' face, and his smile grows bigger.

"Here. Put this on," he says, taking his jacket off and handing it to her.

"I'm fine."

"You're barely covered," he deadpans, ogling her knowingly.

She stares challengingly at him for a while, and he holds her gaze without backing up, until she caves – not without sighing heavily first – and finally takes the jacket from him.

The garment is way too big for her, but she looks absolutely sexy in it, at least she does to him. He only has one helmet – the fact is, riding Lisa Cuddy home on his bike wasn't something he had planned ahead – so he gives it to her so she can put it on.

"What about you?" she asks, sounding concerned.

"You take it. I'm good."

"But—"

"Cuddy," he interrupts, taking a step closer and planting his gaze in hers. "Just quit questioning every goddamn thing I say and trust me for one minute, ok? Think you can do that?"

Her mouth falls agape for a second and she nods in silence.

"Good," he says, looking pleased. "Then put that helmet on and hop on the bike!"

He gets on the motorcycle while she's putting the helmet on, and waits until she's ready to lean the bike to the side slightly to make it easier for her to sit behind him. The saddle is just big enough for two so she's pressed close to him and he smiles when she doesn't hesitate more than a second before wrapping her arms around his waist tightly to steady herself.

"Ready?" he asks, tilting his head to the side to look at her above his shoulder.

She nods, and wiggles on the saddle to come closer to him, her bare thighs pressing against the side of his legs tighter.

"Drive me home," she said… So he pops the bike into first gear, deliberately revving up the engine before releasing the clutch and the bike rides off with a throbbing sound.

(…)

* * *

**_A/N_**

_Two more chapters to go before this story will come to an end (I actually cut this chapter and the next one - THE first time, per se – in two parts because it would have been too long, and also eventually decided to write the epilogue separately...)_

_Have a nice day ~ maya_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you to everyone who has left me a comment for the previous chapter: freeasabird14, HuddyGirl, dlb42694, lenasti16, Guest, Guest, azes, Drdiagnostic, sweetysaucy, Amandak82, and oc7ober _

_So here it is, now, _**the first time**…

_I wanted it to have some meaning, obviously, because in my mind – even though Cuddy pretends it's not the case in Known Unknowns, I think it's evident Gregory House indelibly marked her with… something during that night that later prompted her to hire him, despite him being an unmanageable pain in the ass._

_And that something surely wasn't just all about Cuddy's need to excel at her job and prove herself worthy as a boss, right? ;)_

_This chapter is rather long ( 10,000 words) so I hope it will make up for the wait, and that you will enjoy reading it._

_NB: I wrote this story using different point of views in the narration, deliberately. Chapter 1&2 were told from Cuddy's perspective, while chapters 3&4 were told from House's, then, as things accelerated, chapter 5 was Cuddy's and chapter 6, House's. For this chapter, I used both point of views successively because I wanted that first time to be experienced from two different angles, for different reasons, that later would have different meanings…_

"You gave me everything I asked for because one night I gave you everything you..." (House – Top Secret)

* * *

**** THE FIRST TIME **  
**– **Chapter 7 – **

She's lied.

She never came here with friends, even less in their car. And now, she will have to find a way to get hers back tomorrow, she thinks, as they pass by it while heading to Central campus on his bike.

But in the end that's just a small inconveniency; the price to pay to be with him a little longer.

She didn't want to leave – leave _him_ – so soon. So she's said the first thing that came to her mind to find a pretext to prolong the way he makes her feel when she's with him: intrigued, challenged, fascinated, playful, sexy, free…

There's, in fact, one simple word to describe it: she feels _good_. And she hasn't felt this way in a long time.

The ride to her building is too short. At least it feels that way because when House parks his bike on the sidewalk in front of her porch, she instantly knows she doesn't want it to be the end of their evening together just yet.

He turns the engine off and leans the bike to the side to help her hop off. She does, though reluctantly, and takes her helmet off.

They stare at each other in silence for a long while. She should give him his helmet back, she knows that. She should just take off his leather jacket, say goodbye, and then he'll drive off and she would go back to her room, _alone_… But no, she doesn't want that, and as strange as it seems, she can see in his eyes that he doesn't want that, either.

The way they're holding each other's gaze is charged with unsaid words that are too powerful to ignore. It's ridiculously sappy, she thinks: The girl, standing in front of her porch in the middle of the night, wearing the guy's jacket, and the guy sitting on his bike, staring intensely at her… Yes, maybe it is sappy, indeed, but it also feels incredibly _real_. And she can't ignore it any longer so, before the moment flies by and disappears, she says something that would no doubt makes her mother cringe - because a well-educated Cuddy woman should never do what she's about to do - but she doesn't care…

"You want to come up?"

His eyes widen for a split second, telling her she's obviously taken him off guard. She instantly bows her head, feeling embarrassed. When she looks up again, she meets his piercing gaze, searching in hers, as if he were trying to read her thoughts, find a sign, something - _anything - _that would tell him she regrets what she just said.

She likes him even more for doing that. She realizes that a lot of guys she knows wouldn't have second guessed her; wouldn't have even tried because they'd have been too happy to seize the opportunity. But House is not one of them. His intense stare is telling her he wants to make sure she still has a way out, if she wants to, and if she does, she's sure he'll pretend that none of this ever happened, _for her sake_. It makes her feel safer, and reinforces her need to be with him even more. So she juts her chin up and plants her steel-gray eyes in his with unwavering determination.

"Alright," he simply says.

And then, he gets off his bike and takes the helmet from her hands, hanging it to the handlebars.

.

Her room is on the second floor. They climb the stairs in silence, House walking behind her, while, all along, she imagines him staring at her legs, smiling at the thought. On her doorstep, she pauses to fish her keys out of her purse as he stands beside her, looking around him.

"Jewish?" he says out of the blue.

"Yes. What makes you say that?"

He smiles and points at the Mezuzah on her doorframe.

She shrugs.

"Oh, right. My mom insisted I put one there," she says with a slightly upset tone.

"You Jewish, too?" she adds, surprised that he noticed the religious object, and moreover, knew its significance.

"Me? Hell no!" he exclaims in mock horror.

She turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open. They step inside her room and she turns around to look at him, intrigued by his reaction.

"What's wrong with being Jewish?" she says, her pride slightly piqued, even though she's not a fervent observant.

"Nothing, I guess," he says offhandedly, as she closes the door. "I just think believing in any God is stupid."

Her back to him, she hangs her purse on the coatrack by the door, and takes his leather jacket off, before turning around to look at him. She takes a step closer to him and stands right in front of him, almost touching him

"So what do you believe in, House?" she whispers flirtatiously, putting the jacket in his hands.

He looks down at her and smiles, visibly amused.

"Facts," he says. "Science. Truth."

She smiles, too, and parts her lips, ever so slightly leaning in. She knows that he _knows_ what she's doing, and what she's asking him in that instant. He cocks his eyebrow, and stares down at her roguishly, but with infuriating nonchalance, somehow. Then he walks around her and hangs his jacket on the coatrack.

She bites her bottom lip, feeling almost chastised in a way, as if seeing him casually walking away from her was the equivalent of him saying "not yet" to her.

"So you, what, don't believe in God?" she asks, trying to downplay her disappointment with a casual voice.

"No."

"Any God?"

"Nope! I believe in what I can see, not what I'm told to see."

She rolls her eyes and he steps further into her room, taking in his surroundings.

The place is extremely tidy (she hates studying in a messy environment) and as she observes him looking around her 15 meter square of perfectly organized space, Cuddy suddenly fully realizes the extent of the situation she's put herself in: She's invited House to come up, and now it's just the two of them, standing only a few feet away from each other, _in her room_.

No need to lie to herself, though, she perfectly knows _why _she wanted him here. And House knows it, too, most unquestionably. Still, for some reason, she's convinced that he's not going to do anything unless she makes a move first. It seems perfectly understandable, and she should even be thankful for that, in a way, but at the same time, now that the moment is close, and almost palpable, she feels paralyzed. And inexplicably shy.

Her heart is speeding up in her chest and she can feel its thudding beat against her ribs. Flustered, she slowly closes the distance that separates them as he stands, with his back to her, by her mahogany desk. There's a jar full of lollipops on it and when she approaches, he opens it and takes one out of it.

"Ha. So that's where your stash is, eh?" he says playfully, turning around to face her.

He rips the wrapper from the lollipop and slides the red piece of candy between his lips.

In spite of her, her eyes travel to his mouth and she gulps, unaware that she's licking her bottom lip and mimicking the sucking movement of his lips.

House pops the lollipop out of his mouth and smiles at her, unabashedly eyeing her up and down for a minute.

"I don't have anything to drink," she says, slightly short of breath. "So I don't kn—"

"Cuddy," he interrupts, taking a step forward and deliberately invading her personal space. "I don't want a drink." He stares intensely into her eyes and slowly brings his hand to her face, brushing the line of her jaw with his thumb. "And you and I both know that's not what _you_ want, either," he adds knowingly.

She sucks in a sharp breath, taken aback by his bluntness.

And yet, isn't that the truth? Yes, she doesn't want a drink, or to chit chat. She wants _him_. She's most certainly led him to think that she did, anyway. So what exactly is holding her back? She looks up at him and she can feel flush invading her cheeks. She's _not_ shy. And she knows what she wants. And this, _now_, is exactly what she wants. She's been actively chasing him for almost a month – not that he is aware of it – doing everything she could to get close to him, know him better, get noticed by him…

Tonight is not a random combination of circumstances. _She_ made it happen, because, let's face it, she's attracted to him. Since the moment when he's upset her with his teasing, know-it-all nonchalance in that bookstore, she's felt the need to beat him at his own game, outsmart him, seduce him, make him want her…

It's a game. But at the same time, it's not.

And maybe that's what frightens her in that moment, as her gaze holds his gaze for interminably long, ticking seconds.

"I should leave," he says, breaking the silence.

The sound of his voice jolts her out of her inward monologue. And then, her mind registers the meaning of his words.

He's starting to move away from her and, in a heartbeat, she stops analyzing: She grabs his wrist and holds him back.

"No. Stay," she says her voice barely above a whisper.

He narrows his eyes at her and she relaxes her grip around his wrist, sliding her hand in his palm. His gaze becomes more intense as she takes the lollipop from his hand and throws it in the waste bin next to her desk. And then, without letting go of his eyes, she guides his hand to her waist, and takes a step closer.

He's tall, and even if she stood on tiptoe, she couldn't reach his face if he didn't lean down. And if he did, it would mean he wants exactly what she wants, which is what she desperately needs to know right now, as she tilts her head up and searches in his eyes for a reason to believe he feels as aroused as she's feeling in that instant.

On the first look, he appears absolutely poised, but she's convinced it's just an act. She can hear his ragged breathing, and he hasn't removed his hand from her waist. On the contrary, his fingers dig in the soft flesh of her hip and grip her tighter, keeping her close to his strapping body.

Seconds tick off, and they keep staring at each other in silence. House's incredible eyes are studying her, mercilessly, and she can feel the intensity of that stare in every cell of her body, bubbling like electricity.

Finally, he leans down to her face and stops his lips merely inches away from her lips. His breath is warm on her skin. She wants to kiss him so badly…

"What do you want?" he says with a raspy voice.

"You know what I want," she sasses, holding his gaze.

"_Say it_."

She licks her bottom lip, perfectly aware of the effect that her enticing gesture has on him just then.

"I want to have sex with you," she says, barely recognizing her own voice.

His mouth falls agape, but he quickly pulls himself together and his hand slides to her ass, groping her curve mightily and pressing her hard against him. Then his mouth is on hers and he nips her lower lip with his teeth, soothing it with a stroke of his tongue right after.

"Careful," he warns with a groan, blowing the word against the pulp of her lips.

But, she thinks, as she wraps her arms around his neck and holds his head down to kiss him, she doesn't want to be careful. Not when it only took one brief, demanding kiss from him and a hoarse warning of what it might become to set her body ablaze with need.

She greedily claims his mouth again, and in moments, she realizes that the way he responds to her kiss feels nothing like what she's ever experienced before with the boys she's dated until then. It's imperious, dauntless, and undoubtedly experienced.

House is no boy. He's _a man_, kissing her with might, and it's obvious that he knows exactly what he does, as he tastes her, and roams her back with his large palms, pressing her against his chest, and taking her breath away. It holds the promise of something overwhelming and mind-blowing, and Cuddy suddenly feels a brief panic pervade her, as she's not so sure anymore that she will be able to handle such forceful desire.

Of course, she's not a shy virgin anymore, and she knows several ways to drive a guy crazy, but she's well aware that she's still young and far from knowing everything there is to know about sex. She's done it enough time to have had a few orgasms (at least she thinks so) and she knows how to give good blow jobs – if the guys' reactions were any indication, that is – but, so far, it's never really felt like something fully enjoyable, not as enjoyable as she would expect sex to be, anyway, because either the guy comes too fast, or he doesn't, but then _she _wants him to come faster…

And right now, even though she was content with what she's experienced so far, she suddenly feels like it won't be enough to meet the sexual needs of a man like House. And she's afraid of what he might think of her if he finds out. She doesn't want him to think she's an ingenuous, inexperienced girl. She wants to blow his mind, drive him crazy, and become unforgettable…

So she breaks away from their kiss, and does the first thing that comes to her mind as she convinces herself that she needs to impress him if she wants to achieve her goals: She slowly slides along his body and falls down on her knees in front of him.

She hears him gasp, but he makes no attempt at stopping her. Her face is leveled with his groin and it's impossible not to notice the bulge at the front of his pants. She affects him, she thinks with relief, palming the proof of his arousal, and stroking it above the thick, cotton fabric of his jeans.

"God!" he groans.

"I thought you didn't believe in God," she says teasingly, as she takes care of his zipper and pushes his jeans past his ass quickly.

She frees his cock out of his boxers next, and he lets out an incoherent sound just then: A mix of relief and frustration. He's hard. And big. She stares at his erect member eagerly for a second and leans forward, licking the seam with her tongue, before sliding the head between her lips and gradually taking his length inside her mouth. She sucks him a few times, applying just the necessary pressure to make his shaft swell and throb against her lips, until she hears him moan appreciatively, and that sound, then, feels just like the sound of victory to her.

She glances up and meets his gaze, as he's looking down at her: Amazed, blissful, and… stunned.

She starts rolling her tongue around the head of his cock again, but then he grabs her by the shoulders and makes her stand up, a bit abruptly, breaking a contact she didn't want to end so soon. She pouts sulkily when her eyes meet with his eyes.

"What are trying to prove, Cuddy?" he says breathlessly, his intense stare burning a hole into her soul.

"Nothing," she says coyly.

"_What do you want_?"

His voice is almost accusing, but his eyes unmistakably tell her there isn't an ounce of reproach in his question: he wants her. And she knows it. She's just tasted the proof of his desire in her mouth seconds earlier.

She sucks in a sharp breath and plants her gaze in his.

"Everything," she says feeling dizzy with lust.

Her answer is met with a smile, almost devilish, and it sends a twinge in her lower belly, as her womb spasms in anticipation.

Without ever letting go of his eyes, she reaches under her skirt for her panties. Slowly, she pushes them past her ass and down her thighs until they fall down at her ankles.

"House-" she whispers, short of breath.

He briefly tilts his head down to glance at her panties, lying on the floor, before looking at her again.

"Just… Fuck me," she says brazenly, when they lock eyes.

She's never used that word with a guy in a similar context before, but his eyes, and the burning desire she can see inside of them, are making all her inhibitions vanish into thin air in that moment. Maybe he can see it too, because he suddenly wraps one arm around her waist and whirls her around swiftly, making her stand with her back to him.

He pushes her against the edge of her desk and presses his body against hers, and then his hand circles her abdomen and finds her sex, parting her folds, and teasing her clit with the tip of his finger.

"Like that?" he says, with a gravelly voice, his chin on her shoulder as he whispers the words in her ear.

She can feel his hard cock nudge her ass above the thin fabric of her skirt, and she suddenly feels overwhelmed by the intensity of his demand.

Maybe she's overplayed her hand. The truth is she never did it that way, from behind, before. And as his chest leans against her back, she feels possessed, and it's too much for her, too soon. She pants, breathless, trying to find the right words to tell him 'no' but before she can say anything, he swings her around once more, and she lands in her arms, facing him.

"Or maybe _like that_ is too much for you… Am I right?" he says.

She stares at him, mouth agape, unable to utter a single word, and flush starts invading her cheeks.

"Never tease a guy if you end up playing a game that's out of your league," he says reproachfully.

"I—"

"If you think I'm interested in little sluts who ask for a quick fuck, then you're wrong about me—"

"I'm not a slut!" she snaps angrily.

"I _know_; which is why I know you don't want to _fuck_," he says, his voice softer.

He's making a point, and he stares at her, looking impossibly self-assured, and it infuriates her. But at the same time, there's no denying the effect it has on her. She can't really rationalize that nonsense – the fact that him being so full of himself can arouse her so much - but she can _feel_ that it does. She can feel the proof of that arousal gathering at the center of her core, and coating her folds.

She opens her mouth to say something, but he silences her with a pointed stare.

"You want to have sex," he says, caressing the side of her thighs, and ever so slightly hiking up her skirt with the up and down movement of his strokes. "_Do you_?"

"Yes," she blows, short of breath.

"I want that, too," he rasps. "And I'm going to give you what you want… give us _both_ what we want…"

He keeps staring intensely at her and the hint of a smile reaches his eyes.

"Are you going to let me?" he says.

"Yes," she repeats.

His smile grows bigger and he leans down to kiss her. The contact of his mouth on her mouth is tentative, his lips only brushing the pulp of her lips leisurely.

"I don't have any condoms with me," he says breaking away from their kiss. "So you'd better tell me that you do, otherwise—"

"I do," she says before he can finish his sentence.

She disentangles herself from their embrace and quickly leans to the side to search for a rubber in her desk's drawer.

There are several of them there, and she should feel embarrassed that House most undeniably sees them, or worried about what he might think of her because of it, but the fact is, she doesn't care. And if he does, he's gentleman enough not to make any kind of cynical comments, which is something that makes her like him a little more in that instant.

She hands him the condom and he takes it, putting it at the ready on the desk behind them. It surprises her: She thought he would put it on right away, and give her what she wants. But, the truth is, even she far from knows what it is... _yet_. So far, her experiences have all followed quite the same predictable pattern: once the guy is hard and she's ready, it pretty much right away moves to the act of penetration. She's okay with that, though, because she _thinks_ that's what having sex is.

But it isn't.

And she's about to find out that it's not, as she wraps her arms around his neck and surrenders to him the power she thought she had until then. And then, she understands she definitely never truly had it, as his hands moves under her skirt and one of them gropes her ass cheek possessively while the other starts searching for her sex.

When he parts her slit and finds the entry of her core, pushing one finger inside of her, she shudders in his arms and grips his shoulders forcefully, afraid that she might lose her balance. Instantly, he steadies her by moving his other arm around her waist and holding her tight against him. His face nuzzles her neck and she can feel the warmth of his breath again her skin.

"Fuck, Cuddy, you're so… tight," he says with a hint of wonderment in his voice.

He pumps in and out of her a few times and, after a while, he adds a second digit, pushing them deep inside her. She yelps and throws her head back, the sensation already threatening to send her hurtling over the edge.

"And so wet…" he says.

She moans, feeling intoxicated by both his touch and the words he's whispering in her ears, and she gropes around to reach for his cock. As soon as her slender hand comes in contact with his hard member, she wraps her fingers around it and starts stroking its length with a forceful rhythm that matches the spasms she feels in her womb, begging for something she doesn't yet truly know how to define.

In seconds, the hand that was keeping her steady leaves the small of her back, and moves to the space between them to still her hand on his cock.

"Stop," he warns, straightening up to look at her.

She bites her lower lip and stares back at him, awestruck by the look in his eyes: Two dark blue orbs filled with intense yearning. One of his hands is still pressed against her sex, his fingers working her up to a state of absolute elation. Carefully, he pushes a third digit inside her core and she gasps for air loudly, feeling like she might faint from the sudden overwhelming sensation.

With his other hand, he reaches for her hand, still trapped against his groin, and interlaces his fingers with hers to move her arm behind her back. His fingers pump inside her at a leisurely pace for a little while longer, and her vision becomes blurry as she can feel a wave ripple through her body and gathering in her lower belly. She starts panting and closes her eyes, and before the sensation can reach its peak, House removes his fingers from her abruptly.

She topples backwards and instantly wants to protests, but she finds herself unable to say anything. In truth, she doesn't really know what to say. She just knows that she feels frustrated but she hasn't time to find the right words to rationalize why because, before she knows it, she's lifted off the desk and pressed against the wall next to it.

She opens her eyes and she's face to face with him, wrapped in his arms. He stares intensely at her, with an undecipherable gaze, and she parts her lips, silently asking him to kiss her. He does and the way he kisses her is mightier this time, and undeniably more demanding: His breathing is heavy and, as her tongue finds his tongue and starts tasting him, she feels his hands move under her ass and lift her off the ground. Instantly, she wraps her legs around his waist, but he lifts her higher and slides his forearms under the back of her knees, hooking her legs to the bend of his arms.

In that position, she's open wide against his groin, and seconds after, she feels the head of his cock tease the entry of her sex.

"House," she pants. "The cond—"

"I have it," he says, locking eyes with her.

She jerks her head to the side and sees the ripped foil packet on her desk. When did he put it on? It feels like he was still relentlessly finger-fucking her on her desk only seconds before.

Does it matter, anyway? Of course not! Bouncing her body up on his forearms, House pushes the length of him inside her with a grunt, and she forgets to care. The sensation of fullness is instantaneous, and unique compared to what she's known until then. He's big, and so hard, and he holds her in a position that leaves every inch of her at the complete mercy of his thrusts. Her inner walls clamp around him and when they do, he gasps and dives in, devouring her mouth with a ravenous kiss that leaves her lips swollen and wet with his saliva.

His hips move, up and down, and each time, the movement, strong and steady, pins her against the wall. And each time, the head of his cock hits her deeper. She wraps her arms against his neck and she lets him rock her. He still holds the back of her legs hooked to his forearms, and she feels totally possessed, offered, but most of all, incredibly good.

It doesn't last very long – a minute? – and soon, she's overwhelmed by the same wave that threatened to crash her earlier, but never did. Only this time it does, and she's totally unable to control it. She feels several spasms shake the center of her core as her sex clenches around his length, keeping him imprisoned in her heat.

She wants to squeal, but she doesn't dare so she sets her lips together forcefully, and squeezes her eyes shut, digging her nails in the round shape of his shoulders.

The sensation subsides as fast as it hit her, and her body becomes limp, gradually sinking lower as he removes his arms from under her legs. Her feet never touch the floor, though, as his hands are on her ass again, holding her steadily against him, and, without pulling out of her, he moves their entangled bodies to the desk, carefully laying her down.

He kisses the line of her jaw, and dives in her neck, inhaling deeply against her pulse point.

"Breathe," he tells her with a low voice.

So that's it, she thinks. This is what having sex with House feels. It was good, undeniably, but too short. And, even though it felt different from what she's experienced with other guys before him, it was still the same, eventually: Just some horny, hurried minutes of heated exchange between two impatient bodies that end up in an outburst of pleasure she feels she can never truly grasp.

She sighs, a mix of resignation and fullness, already ready to move on to the next phase: Guy getting dressed again, and leaving.

How wrong she is, though…

House straightens up and plants his intense gaze in her, flashing an amused smile at her.

"So," he says with that now familiar sparkle of mischief behind his eyes. "Now that we got you all ready, why don't we work on giving you a _real_ orgasm?"

Cuddy's eyebrows fly up in surprise. Yes, maybe it was quick and messy, but in the end, she knows she's felt something.

"I have… _We_ have, already. I don't-"

"Oh, Cuddy," he says, rubbing his nose against her cheekbone. "You don't, indeed."

"I came," she starts to protest.

"Yes, you did," he says with a smile, taking her face inside his hands. "You think I didn't feel your tight pussy clamp around my cock?"

Her mouth falls agape and she doesn't know if she should feel scandalized by his words, or completely turned on.

"But you—"

He silences her with a kiss then, still holding her face inside his palms, and nibbles the pulp of her lips a few times before straightening up. When he looks at her again, there's a sort of fondness in his smile.

"I'm still inside you," he whispers against her lips.

As if to prove a point, he moves his hips, ever so slightly pulling out of her, before thrusting back inside her sex.

"Feel this," he says, his voice a raspy groan. "Feel _me_."

She gasps at the sensation, realizing he's still very much hard inside her.

"Do you?"

"Yes." She looks at him, and a lump tightens her throat for a reason she's unable to explain. "You… you didn't come," she says, blushing.

"No," he simply answers. "You want everything, and that was not it, Cuddy. But you're too impatient. You don't take time to feel…"

'I—"

"Shh, let me show you," he whispers in her ear.

Slowly, his hands moves from her face to her shoulders and slides to the hem of her tee-shirt. Seizing it, he starts taking it off of her and she lifts her arms up to help him. He quickly tosses it behind him and then wraps his arms around her waist next, pressing against the small of her back to bring her closer to him. With another hip sway, more deliberate this time, he makes sure she is still aware that he's inside her, moving in and out of her once, slow, and deep.

She sucks in a sharp breath and he takes off his tee-shirt in one deft move, sliding it past his head swiftly and tossing it on the floor. His hands return to her the small of her back instantly, and, as he keeps her close to him, skin to skin, he starts thrusting inside of her, and leans to her face to kiss her.

She _feels_ him: His mouth on her lips, his cock inside her heat, his hands on her back, caressing her spine. She feels everything, finally, and it's a new sensation she didn't expect but one that feels so good she never wants it to end. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, for the first time really touching him. His skin is soft, and she can feel the muscles of his back tense and relax in successive waves under her caresses.

"Yes," he coaxes, breaking away from her lips.

His fingers are working on her bra hook, and he unclasps it, sliding the straps along her arms and freeing her breasts from the underwired cups slowly. He leans back to look at them and his eyes widen in awe at the vision. Tentatively, he brings his hand to cup one of her breasts inside his palm and a look of boyish wonderment illuminates his face when the plumpness of her curve fills his hand perfectly. She smiles – some things about men will never change, she thinks - and he lifts up his face to look at her, smiling back.

Then he leans down to return his attention to her bosom, taking one into his mouth, while his hand keeps fondling the other. Her nipples get hard at the touch, and she closes her eyes relishing the sensation of his strokes, and his kisses, and then he grips her hips tightly and yanks her towards the edge of the desk, the pressure of his groin against her inner thighs, and his strong, deep thrusts inside her the only force that prevents her from falling. She hooks her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his ass to press him closer to her and keep herself steady.

His hands caress her chest, her hips, the side of her arms, and his lips are everywhere on her face, kissing her skin softly, licking her lips, nibbling her earlobes, and she can feel his cock hit deep inside her, again, and again, and it starts rising inside her, inexorably.

She doesn't know what _it_ is, but it's imperious and she can't fight it. She doesn't want to, anyway. She starts breathing faster, and the sounds of her lustful pants echo in her ears and make her feel dizzy. She scrapes his back with her nails, and presses her feet harder against his butt cheeks.

House keeps thrusting inside her at a deliberate pace: Slow, but not too slow, hard but not too hard, deep but not too deep. She's wet with desire and she can hear the sound of her slick walls taking him in and out of her. She's never paid attention to that sound before and suddenly, it becomes all she can focus on: The sound of sex; totally uncensored and lustful sex.

"Faster," she demands, voicing for the first time a need she's never expressed until today.

The word has come naturally, as if her mind had known all along what to say. She doesn't yet know why she needs it, though. She only knows she's getting close to a maelstrom of overwhelming sensations that she will surely not be able to control but that her body is still screaming to get there all the same.

House cups her face in his hands then, and plants his gaze in her gaze with intent, picking up the rhythm of his thrusts just as she's asked him. His jaw is slack and he's panting, too, as he's studying her reaction, his eyes burning with desire. She gasps a few times, and without a warning, his hand moves to her sex and he presses his thumb against her clit, rubbing it in circular motions a few times.

_It_ takes hold of her entire body, all at once. A long shudder ripples down her spine. It makes her thighs quiver, and her shoulders jerk. Every one of her muscles contracts, and then relaxes. And deep inside of her, she can _feel_ her inner walls tighten and spasm. She can _feel_ the need to suck his cock inside her, and the urge to push it away at the same time. She can _feel_ the overwhelming wave in every cell of her body, and just then, she can't stop herself from crying out; something incoherent that surely makes no sense, but channels all the energy that just exploded inside her in one liberating sound.

House holds her inside his arms, while her body continues to quake for a minute, and then he slowly pulls out of her.

"Wasn't that better?" he says with a smug smile.

She puffs and rolls her eyes, not sure if she wants to slap him or smother his face with grateful kisses.

She's never had an orgasm until then, not _like that_ anyway. She only now realizes she hasn't because, now, she _knows_ what an orgasm feels like. How could she possibly have had sex and not feel like this before? She feels deliciously fulfilled, and relaxed. She feels great, and she already craves more.

Tilting her head down, she glances at his groin and her eyes widen with incredulity when she sees he's fully erect, his cock sheathed inside the condom still perfectly hard.

"You… You didn't come?" she says, and there's a hint of reproach in her voice, mixed with a slight feeling of guilt for not being able to satisfy him as much as he's satisfied her.

"It's not you," he instantly says with a reassuring voice, lifting her chin with his finger to make her look him in the eyes.

She frowns dubious and opens her mouth to protest.

"It's _not_," he cuts her off before she has time to speak. "But I thought you wanted it to be all about you."

A roguish smile flickers on the corner of his lips, and she stares at him, stunned.

She doesn't even comprehend what he means. She made every guy she's had sex with come, before. Hell, more than one of them came before she could even start to really get off!

"What is it, Cuddy?" he says teasingly.

"Do I not… turn you on?" she asks, feeling piqued in her pride.

"I thought the answer to that was pretty obvious," he says rolling his eyes.

She looks down and sees that his sex is slowly becoming flaccid again. Following her gaze, he glances down, too, and takes the rubber off, throwing it in the waste bin.

"Well, it has to return to normal at some point," he chastises, sounding undeniably amused by her reaction. "Otherwise, it's called priapism, you know… And trust me, you don't—"

"Shut up!" she says, glaring at him. "I know what priapism is…"

"Oh, you do?" he chuckles.

He leans down to grab the waistbands of his jeans and boxers around his ankles, and starts to put them back on. But before he's brought them half way up his thighs, she moves in the space in front of him and covers his hands with her hands to stop him. He frowns and looks at her, half-intrigued, half-amused.

"I want to make you come," she says with a stubborn pout.

"Cuddyyy," he says with a drawl.

"Everything," she reminds him sassily, and she moves his hands away, deliberately pushing his jeans and boxers back down.

He sighs, and she instantly knows that she's won, just by the sound of sweet defeat that lies behind that sigh. She watches him step out of his jeans and boxers and then take off his shoes and socks, and she realizes that she's only now seeing him entirely naked, as they never took the time to fully undress to have sex until this moment.

She looks down at her feet, and sees that she's still wearing her shoes, too, so she leans down to take them off, and then she opens her desk's drawer to retrieve another condom.

She puts it on the desk, just like he did earlier, before taking a step towards him. He smiles when she approaches him and wraps one arm around her waist as soon as she's standing close to him.

"You are one demanding little minx," he says, lifting his hand to cup one of her breasts.

He massages it slowly with his hand for a while then pinches the tip of her nipple, rolling the rosy peak between his thumb and index finger until it elicits an almost pleading moan from her that makes him smile victoriously at her.

"And so receptive…"

She shoves his hand away, and shoots him a challenging look, before wrapping her fingers around his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath, but keeps holding her gaze, a faint smile turning the corner of his lips upward.

Within a few strokes, he's hard inside her palm again, and she smiles, pleased with the power she has on him, before taking the condom and silently handing it over to him. She watches him rip the foil packet with his teeth and then roll the rubber around his length. When the condom is in place, he closes the space between them and puts his hands on the small of her back, pressing her close to him, and guiding her towards the bed.

She resists and pushes him away, taking a step back, and he shoots her a quizzical look. Feeling sexier than she's ever felt before, she flashes a flirtatious smile at him and reaches behind her back to undo the zipper of her skirt. The ruffled material isn't long to fall down on the floor and she stands, naked in front of him for the first time that night. He unabashedly eyes her up and down, completely mesmerized by the vision of her nude body in front of him, and then he grabs one of her thighs and lifts it up to hook it around his waist.

Again, she pushes him away, and takes a deep breath before turning around to stand with her back to him. House doesn't react right away so she leans forward a little, and puts her hands flat on the desk, glancing atop her shoulder to look at him. He stands behind her, with his jaw slack, and stares at her lower back, visibly stunned. His cock jerks up, and she sends him a killer smile, licking the corner of her mouth yearningly.

"Like that," she says with a throaty voice.

In a heartbeat he's there, standing behind her and she feels the length of his sex pushing against her butt crack. He wraps his arms around her and lays his hands flat on her stomach, trapping her against him. She feels overwhelmed all of a sudden, and a little apprehensive, but she wants this. Even though she's never done it like that before, she knows she wants _him_ that way, and nothing other than the urge to feel him inside her matters in that instant.

"I want you inside me," she whispers, shivering in anticipation.

"Fuck," he groans, and he clenches his fists against her midriff, digging them in the toned flesh of her abdomen.

For a few seconds, he takes her breath away, quite literally, and then he relaxes the pressure, and moves one hand to her back, in the space between them.

She bites her bottom lip as she feels him run his fingers along her slit, until he finds the entry of her wet core and guides him between her folds, carefully pushing the head of his cock inside of her. He rests his hand on her shoulder blade next, and motions her to bend over with a deliberate pressure of his palm on her skin. She complies docilely and his cock slides deeper into her, although not fully, but it makes her gasp for air, as the intensity of that new angle fill her in a way she's never imagined she could feel.

"I can stop," he says.

"No, don't!" she instantly protests, and she turns her head to the side to look at him, the movement twisting her spine and involuntarily making her hips jerk.

His fingers instantly grasp her flesh with a strong clutch to still her, and he sends her a warning glare. She smiles as she watches him tilts his head back and close his eyes: He's overwhelmed, just like she is, she inwardly tells herself.

House bends his knees, to align his thighs with the back of her thighs, and then he thrusts up, shoving his cock into her in one conquering hip sway, and sheathing his whole length deep inside her. His knuckles dig into her hips, and she's at his mercy, but, she realizes, she is still the one having all the power.

And it's a revelation for her. One – she doesn't know it yet – that will change the way she will give herself intimately for the rest of her life: Sex is about self-control, as much as it is about letting go.

In hindsight, she understands what House meant before when he told her it was all about her. Yes, there is undeniably a form of ecstasy in seeing the other surrender completely to you. And that reward is as fulfilling and pleasurable as seeking after your own release.

Just moments before, she told him she wanted to make him come, but it was just a challenge; something she thought was necessary because she _had to_ make it even. And it had nothing to do with him, really, but everything to do with her _pride_.

That's not what it is, anymore, though.

House starts to move inside her, and as he first pulls out, slowly, before thrusting back, she arches the small of her back and pushes against his hips to take him back inside her harder. A grunt escapes his lips and he leans down, pressing his chest on her back and kissing her between her shoulder blades. She shivers at the touch, and rocks her hips in a round motion, pushing against his groin. His hands leave her hips and claim her body, cupping her breasts and kneading the plump flesh possessively. At the same time, she realizes he's releasing her from his grip and that she's free to move just like she wants to. It's a strange thing to be aware of, when she's bent over under him, her hands on her desk, and his strapping body towering over her petite frame.

She still lets him _take_ her because, somehow, she becomes attuned to what it does to him, and that feeling is deliciously intoxicating: She can hear his breaths become shallower every time his cock slides in and out of her slick core. She can feel it swell inside her, as he's no doubt struggling to keep up a steady pace, despite the loss of control that threatens to overcome him, and that sensation, that _awareness_, at that moment, feels better than any of the sensations she feels in her body. Better than anything she _wants_ to feel in her body.

She lets her instincts guide her and the more it lasts, the more she knows exactly _how_ to anticipate what he needs: She contracts her inner walls, deliberately, increasing the friction and the effort required to thrust into her, and she hears him suck in a sharp breath, as his body suddenly tenses against her. She straightens up, then, her back leaning against his chest, and instantly, he wraps his arms around her stomach, imprisoning her in his embrace so she starts rocking her hips faster, forcing him to shove harder and deeper inside her not to lose their connection. He bends his legs to maintain the angle of penetration, and in moments, she feels him surrender to the overwhelming sensation.

"Fuck," he groans, his face buried in the nape of her neck.

She lifts her arm and cups the back of his skull with her palm to keep his face close to hers, as she begins grinding her ass against his groin a few times, and it feels like they're dancing together again, only this time there is no music, only the sounds of House's moans as he comes inside her so forcefully she can feel the pulsating jolts of his cock inside her as his semen fills the rubber in quick spurts.

Several involuntary twitches keep shaking his hips before he finally stills behind her and all his muscles gradually relax, leaving him slack against her. She moves away from him to pull him out of her and turns around to face him.

His neck is red and his eyes shine with sated lust behind hooded lids. She stands on tiptoe and stretches her neck to brush his lips with a feather light kiss.

"Wasn't that better?" she says with a self-satisfied beam, unabashedly looking down at the proof of his orgasm.

He arches an eyebrow, visibly amused by her sassiness, and yanks her in his arms, groping her ass in his large palms and keeping her pressed against him.

"Bitch!" he says against the shell of her ear.

She throws her head back and laughs, and he kisses the line of her jaw before pulling back to take off his condom.

"I feel good," she hears herself say out loud, surprised that the words came as easily to her as they just did.

He flashes a devilish smile at her and without a warning he scoops her in his strong arms, lifting her off the ground before she can see it coming. She lets out a squeal and he turns around carrying her to the bed and unceremoniously throwing her on the mattress. Seconds after, he's on top of her, his hands caressing the side of her thighs, and his face nuzzling her breasts. He rubs his nose against her nipples and takes them in his mouth, one after the other, lavishing the erect peak with his tongue, and glancing up at her with a boyish grin when he makes a deliberate popping sound with his lips. He doesn't linger there, though, deliberately moving down towards her sex.

"Good is about to get better," he says, and he uses the pressure of his hands on her knees to spread her legs open.

...

"No, House," she protests. "No more, I can't. I—"

He props himself on his elbows and looks up at her with a smile. She looks so beautifully disheveled, and from this position, with his shoulders nestled between her upper thighs, the sight of her naked body stretched above him on the mattress is so incredibly sexy: first the dark curls on her mound, there, just below his chin; then comes the perfectly flat valley of her stomach, and then her breasts, heavy and firm, their round shape barely altered by gravity, her collarbones, and her throat, delicate, the curve of her neck…

She lifts up her head to look at him and he can see her resistance melt in the way she's smiling at him. That girl is such a powerful sexual creature, he thinks, and she's not even aware of it yet. But _he_ knows. He's felt it, just moments before, in the way she's totally and shamelessly possessed him. And he wants more.

"Let's see about that," he says, leaning down to press the tip of his nose against the apex of her sex.

Tentatively, heedful of her every move and reaction, House slowly parts her folds with his tongue and finds her clit, warm and swollen against his lips. With a light stroke, he teases the sensitive nub, once, barely brushing the soft flesh and, instantly, she bucks her hips and spreads her thighs wider to grant him better access.

_There_. He was sure of it: She is just made for pleasure, and lust. And it simply becomes impossible to ignore it, as she slides her fingers through his hair and keeps his head against her sex, as her body starts undulating in shuddering waves, following the rhythm of his tongue strokes.

Gradually, he increases the pressure against her clit, sucking it between his lips, and her body responds with equal force in no time: Her thighs start to tremble, and she moans a few 'yes' and then she freezes abruptly, her entire body tense and arched up, and the next second she falls back on the mattress, completely lax, her heavy breathing betraying the force of the orgasm that's just hit her once again.

It's hard to define how House feels in that instant because he wouldn't really know how to explain it himself. It's a mix of pride, awe, and gratitude, or maybe something else entirely, but he doesn't care.

He feels good, and most of all, he doesn't feel the need to rationalize it and he likes that. It's carefree, and simple, and it's something he's not really familiar with, but could surely get used to quicker than he's willing to admit…

He slowly climbs his way back up and falls on his back next to her, staring at the ceiling in silence. Her bed is a single bed, and there's not much room for the both of them, but he likes that it forces them to stay close to each other, and as still as possible in order not to risk making the other one fall.

Cuddy turns to the side to look at him and he can see her smile at him, or to herself, he can't really tell. She looks beautiful, he thinks. Really beautiful: Her face radiates with that unique glow only sex can elicit. Her pupils are dilated and her lips a little swollen. She has long eyelashes, and she flutters them a few times, flirtatiously, before cuddling up against his chest. For a long while, they just lie there, their naked bodies entangled, without saying a word, and the silence in her room then, perfectly peaceful, is only barely disturbed by the sound of their breathing.

"I'm thirsty," he says out of the blue.

She props herself on her elbow next to him and frowns at him, amused.

"I thought you didn't want a drink," she teases.

"That was before round one… and two, and three, and—" he says with a laugh.

She chuckles and falls on her back, next to him.

"I told you I have nothing to drink," she says, staring ahead.

In one jump, he pushes himself up and gets out of bed, walking to the coat rack where his leather jacket is hanging. He can feel her intensely watching him, as he searches in his pocket for the silver flask, but when he turns around to join her in bed, she swiftly jerks her head in the opposite direction, faking to be distracted by a little crack on the wall next to her bed.

While she absentmindedly traces the line of the crack with her fingertip, her back to him, he sits down next to her and unscrews the bottle, drinking several gulps of bourbon slowly. She turns around to look at him, and sits up too. He hands her the bottle and she takes it, bringing the neck to her lips and drinking after him.

"This tastes really awful," she declares as her face contorts in a grimace of disgust.

"Why did you drink it earlier, then?" he scoffs.

"Because…"

She stares at him with her chin up, the rest of her sentence hanging in the air, unsaid. He smiles and she leans over him to put the flask on her nightstand.

"What's that?" she says, straightening up.

"What?"

She points at the nightstand with a knowing smile and he pretends to play along, turning to the side to give it a look when he perfectly knows the answer already.

"Oh, that?" he says. "I think it's called a condom."

"A condom, really? Hmm, funny I don't remember having left one there…"

"That's because you haven't," he deadpans.

"You went through my stuff," she says, sounding both amazed and upset that he did.

"Not all your stuff, just your magical drawer…"

He waggles his eyebrows playfully at her, and she rolls her eyes, unable to repress a laugh.

"Don't mess with my stuff," she warns with a frown.

"I love that magical drawer... Also, I love your desk."

He shoots her a knowing look and she blushes with a self-consciousness he finds quite adorable. She briefly averts her eyes, and chuckles nervously before turning to face him again.

"Well, you can thank my mother for that," she says with a shy smile.

He arches his eyebrows, taken aback by her unexpected answer.

"She's the one who insisted to have it ship here, so that I'd have a piece of furniture to remind me of home."

He nods and she sighs heavily, looking down at her hands. He can't explain why, but it suddenly feels like something is bothering her as it is obvious that she is tenser than she was only minutes earlier. Is it because he just reminded her of the way she's given herself to him on that desk earlier?

"You don't like that desk?" he asks, curious.

"Sure, I do! I mean, I guess. It's just a piece of furniture. I don't know. I didn't see the necessity of having it with me when the university already provides furnished rooms for the students."

So this is not about him, he thinks with relief. He narrows his eyes at her and she sets her lips, looking uneasy because of the way he stares at her.

"Why do you let your mother decide for you, then?" he says, with a hint of provocation in his voice.

"Who says I do?" she replies defensively.

"A lot of things," he says with a smartass grin. "There's a mezuzah on your door, and you said that it was there because your mother wanted you to have it. But it's not hard to see from the way it seemed to upset you that _you_ didn't want it. You may be Jewish, but I'm ready to bet you're not so keen on all the folklore that comes with it—"

She stares at him, stunned, and he knows he's hit a sensitive spot just then.

"You want to be a doctor, just like your father," he carries on, studying her reaction, "and your grand-father, and your great-grand father, all of them men. Maybe there's more, and you really want to make a difference, but I say that's not it."

Her mouth falls agape and she glares angrily at him for a split second. He smiles, and runs the tip of his fingers on her bottom lip teasingly. She shakes him off with a jerk of her head and pouts in frustration.

"So what is it then?" she asks challengingly.

"You don't want to be like your mother. I'm betting she's a stay-at-home mom. All these years, you've grown up, seeing her take care of her children. You, I'd say, are the eldest one-"

She puffs and he knows he's right.

"Yeah, with a little brother, I bet. He's the favorite, of course, because he's a boy. And everything is due to him. Unlike you. You, Cuddy, has to prove yourself worthy twice as much. At least you think so. So you've decided that you needed to become someone. But it's a man's world, right? Cruel, and misogynistic. Unless you become a doctor… The _best_ doctor, so you can be like your dad: respected, and strong…"

He stops and looks at her with a self-satisfied smile. Her eyes are wide with a mix of incredulity and amazement, which she definitely tries to hide behind an unfazed look.

"You're wrong," she says trying hard to appear unimpressed.

He stares at her in silence, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Younger sister," she clarifies with a smirk. "Not a brother."

"Well, that changes everything, indeed," he says, amused.

She sticks out her tongue at him, and smacks him on the side of his arm.

"Quit being so damn smug, like you knew everything," she says, holding back a laugh.

"I know a lot of things," he replies unruffled.

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"Like the fact that someone in this room is dying to have another orgasm," he says, shifting his body to lie on top of her.

"You're wrong again because I'm not," she says with a look of defiance on her face.

"Not everything is about you, Cuddy," he says, leaning down to kiss her.

They have sex again. It's lazy and slow because it's late and they're both undeniably tired and struggling not to fall asleep. The bourbon is making him feel a little dizzy, too, even though he hasn't drunk much of it. Or maybe it's her… He doesn't know. He just knows that being inside her, sheathed in her heat, makes him feel funny. So does her body, shivering under his caresses. And the sound of her moans as he rocks his hips between her hips, and her hands palm his ass cheeks possessively to pull him down…

They come together this time, almost at the same time, her orgasm only preceding his by a few seconds. They fall asleep right after. It feels like passing out from a blissful exhaustion none of them wants to fight. They don't sleep long, though, because her bed is definitely too small for two and soon he wakes up next to her. She's curled up in a ball, her fists under her chin, and her elbows pressing her breasts together.

He looks at her for a while, without daring to move and then he gently nudges her shoulder to wake her up. She moans and stirs, and then she opens her eyes, jumping with surprise when she fully acknowledges his presence next to her.

She sits bolt upright and scans the room around her, looking slightly panicked for a second. She relaxes when she recognizes the familiar surroundings and then she looks at him, scrunching her nose.

"What time is it?" she says with a sleepy voice.

"4 am."

Her eyes widen in surprise, and he knows that it's her way of silently telling him that she'd rather he didn't stay the whole night.

He didn't intend to, anyway. He's not so sure they will be able to get any sleep if they both stay side by side in that bed, no matter how tired they are. He knows for sure that it's not what he'll want to do, as he feels his cock get semi-hard again just at the sight of her naked body beside him.

"I should go," he says, hastily getting out of bed before he loses the strength to really leave.

She doesn't say anything while he puts his clothes on quickly, but he can feel her gaze on him the whole time, and when he's fully dressed, she gets up, a blanket wrapped around her body.

He puts his leather jacket on as she stands beside him in silence by the door.

"Thank you," he says, realizing how clumsy he's just sounded as the words leave his mouth.

She smiles coyly, and puts her hand on his shoulder for leverage, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek.

"Goodnight, House."

She turns the knob and opens the door for him, and he walks past her, stepping out. Just before she closes the door behind him, he shoots a glance at her above his shoulder, and the last image he catches of her before the door shuts is her face, tilted down, as a faint smile flickers on the corner of her lips.

He rides back to his studio, located outside the university campus, in a semi daze. Dawn is breaking on the horizon, and he feels sleepy. When he arrives in his apartment, he throws his key on the table, takes his jacket off, and then kicks off his shoes, before crawling in his bed with relief. Sleep comes before he has time to register it. And as his mind drifts into a subconscious state, he can still smell her skin on his skin.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

It's almost ten when he wakes up. He looks around him, and instantly he thinks about her, how her room was so tidy compared to the mess that he lives in: Books everywhere, medical reviews on the coffee table, pizza boxes, dirty clothes on the floor. He smiles when he spots his leather jacket on the floor, and his thoughts wander to her again.

The way she drank his bourbon, even though she confessed later she didn't like it. Of course, logically, he thinks about her lips, next, and then, how they tasted on his lips. Then he thinks about how she tasted there, on his lips…

And then he realizes there's not a million different ways to interpret his thoughts: He wants to see her again.

He will, on Monday, in Endocrinology class, but he quickly decides that Monday is too far away for him to wait. It's Saturday morning. There's a whole week-end ahead of them. They could go somewhere, watch a movie, grab lunch in a café, or just walk, ride his bike, talk… Have sex again. Yeah, they should definitely do that, he thinks.

The phone starts ringing and it jerks him out of his reverie. When he picks up, his mind is focused on what he's going to say to her when he'll go see her, so he grumbles a nonchalant 'hello' and wishes for the conversation to be over quickly.

"Gregory House?" a masculine voice says at the other end of the line.

"Yes."

"Dr. Reitman on the phone, Dean of Medicine at Johns—"

House's hand clutches the receiver tighter and his heart starts beating faster in his chest.

"Yeah, I know who you are," he says.

"I'm sorry to disturb you on a Saturday morning but I needed to inform you that—"

"My appeal has been granted?" he says because it _has to_. He's been waiting for that damn phone call for too long now.

There's a short silence following his question, and then Reitman clears his throat.

"No. Actually, the reason why I'm calling is..."

House cannot believe what just happened as he stares at his phone, completely aghast, after having hung up from the worst conversation he's had in his entire life.

Four years. Four years of med-school ruined within a five-minute phone-call…

(…)

* * *

_**A/N**_

_Next chapter will be the epilogue. Hopefully, it will put everything in perspective in a decent enough, satisfying way…_

_It will, anyway, explore more than just the direct aftermath of that one-night stand. You'll find out why…_

_Thank you for reading.  
__Comments are very much appreciated._

_Have a nice day ~ maya_

_[Edited 24th October 2014: I'm going to mark this story as 'complete' but, as promised, there IS an epilogue. I've posted it separately because it was becoming a story of its own, so if you're interested in reading what's next, you'll find it out there, published (well, part one so far) and it's called "The First Time - Epilogue" (yeah, I know... not very original, ugh! ;P) - Anyway, thank you, again, to everyone who kindly step in here and give my stories a try... ]_


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